


A Passage to Italy

by ArcadianMaggie, Merlocked18



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst, Awesome Morgana (Merlin), Blow Jobs, Cambridge, E.M. Forster - Freeform, Explicit Sexual Content, Gwaine Being Gwaine (Merlin), Italy, M/M, Minor Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Modern Era, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Rimming, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 09:43:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 51,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18962728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcadianMaggie/pseuds/ArcadianMaggie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merlocked18/pseuds/Merlocked18
Summary: College sweethearts while at Cambridge University, Merlin is in the Department of English studying the works of E.M. Forster. Arthur is studying economics, readying himself to take his place at Pendragon Holdings. After a bitter breakup, Arthur travels to Rome on business. When he isn't consumed with work, the setting invariably elicits thoughts of a happier time when he and Merlin were still together. Everywhere he looks, he sees Merlin, even in the faces of Bernini's angels on the Ponte Sant'Angelo. Are they truly over or can they somehow still find their happy ending?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been away from writing for a while and I never could have imagined what a fantastic experience this fest would be (or how long this fic would end up! Lol). I feel like I hit the jackpot having the talented **Merlocked18** make art for this story. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Her work is truly breathtaking and inspiring. All I’d need to do is give a brief description of a future scene and it was like she pulled the images directly from my brain. You're the M to my A and this was a collaboration in every sense of the word. I couldn’t be happier with the result. So. Much. Gorgeous. Art! I also have Merlocked18 to thank for the title, which she off-handedly suggested in one of our initial conversations and which ended up sticking the entire way though. Additionally, part of her initial prompt is included in the summary. 
> 
> Thank you also to my wonderful beta **OnTheTurningAway** who improved this story in so many ways, and especially for her suggestions about one particular scene, which made it infinitely better. It was joy having your comments in my doc again and having you there to hash out any issues. You’re the best! And thank you to my fabulous Brit picker **Kate** who scrubbed my Americanisms out and saved me from myself when I tried to be British-sounding on my own, and who also did a little betaing along the way. I appreciate all the time you took to answer my many questions. Finally, thank you to the mods for running this fest. I loved participating.

 

* * *

   _“Do you remember Italy?”  
E.M. Forster, A Room with a View_

* * *

  
“Come in,” said Uther, greeting Arthur at the door of his London townhouse. “Morgana’s already here. Dinner will be ready shortly.”

“Father,” Arthur acknowledged with a nod as Uther squeezed his shoulder. “Sorry I’m late.”

“How are preparations coming along for your trip?”

“Very well. Sofia’s been invaluable getting me up to speed.”

“Good, good. Morgana,” Uther called down the hall. “Come say hello to your brother. 

Morgana swanned into the room, wine glass in hand. A rosy flush graced her pale face. So not her first glass, Arthur concluded. He hoped he hadn’t left her alone too long with Uther. “Arthur, darling.” She kissed his cheeks, first on one side then the other. “You’re looking well.”

“As are you. How’s Owain? Still managing to put up with you?”

“Always the charmer,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “He, as you well know, worships the ground I walk on.”

“He daren’t do anything else, I imagine.”

Morgana gasped in feigned outrage, punching his arm.

“Children,” Uther scolded. “Are you squabbling already? I’ll have none of that this evening. This is the last meal the three of us will be able to have together for quite some time.”

Morgana reacted by sticking her tongue out at Arthur behind Uther’s back. Arthur’s lips twitched in amusement.

“Would you like some wine, Arthur?” Uther asked. “I’ve opened a bottle of Chianti in honour of your upcoming visit to Italy.”

“That’s sounds fine,” Arthur replied, following him into the dining room and taking the glass Uther offered.

“This is from our winery in Siena. You should find time to tour while you’re there.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Now, please have a seat. I’ll tell Cook we’re ready to dine.”

Over dinner, the first hour’s conversation was dominated by Arthur’s upcoming trip, the viability of the 439-room hotel Pendragon Holdings was considering adding to its portfolio, and the financial status of the newly opened Convention Centre it was attached to.

“I’ve asked Sofia to arrange an apartment for you,” Uther notified Arthur.

“I can handle that myself.”

“Nonsense.”

“Yes, nonsense, Arthur,” Morgana parroted cheekily.

Uther shot her a disapproving look.

Morgana drank a sip wine.

“Sofia is undoubtedly already familiar with our properties in Rome. She’s ideally suited to finding proper living arrangements for you.”

Arthur shrugged in acquiescence, although he’d prefer to select his own dwelling. For now, it wasn’t worth the argument. He could always change apartments once he was in Rome if what she’d found wasn’t to his liking.

As Uther and Arthur continued discussing details of the project, Morgana became visibly agitated. Finally, she snapped. “Do the two of you really intend to discuss business the entire evening? I thought this was meant to be a family meal.”

Uther looked over in surprise. “My apologies. Of course we needn’t talk business.” He took a sip of wine and wiped his lips with his napkin. “And how are things with you, Morgana?” he asked.

“They’re fine,” said Morgana with a prim smile.

Uther looked nonplussed. 

Morgana daintily ate a bite of food.

Uther cleared his throat. “Indeed.”

Arthur hid his smile behind his own napkin.

“And how’s that young man of yours?" Uther asked. “Young…” The pause lengthened to the point of discomfort.

Morgana waited past the point of decency before speaking. “Owain. His name is Owain.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Young Owain. And how is he?”

“He’s fine,” Morgana said, again refraining from elaborating further. Arthur could see the gleam of mischief in her eyes. She did enjoy riling Uther up.

When Uther realised no more was forthcoming, he muttered, “Good, good.” Another uncomfortable silence filled the room. Uther grasped for a topic of conversation. “Anyway,” he continued after a long moment, “it wasn’t all business. Sofia is the daughter of Alfredo Affatato, an old family friend. You met her when you were children, I believe.”

Arthur had no recollection of this meeting and guessed “old family friend” was a stretch, likely more along the lines of business associate. He declined to speak, however, content to watch the unfolding scene between his father and sister.

“More wine?” Morgana asked Arthur, holding up the bottle.

“Yes, please.”

She smirked.

“Sofia’s grown into quite a beautiful young lady,” Uther continued, apparently warming to this topic of conversation. “I think you’ll find you have a lot in common with her, Arthur.”

“Oh?” he asked, noncommittally.

“Yes. It wouldn’t do you any harm to mix a little pleasure in with your business. And you would hardly be amiss to start thinking about finding a wife.”

“A wife,” Arthur said, tone gone flat. He could see Morgana was practically grinning now.

“Yes, a wife. Why, when I was your age, I was already married to your mother and working night and day to build my company.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever heard this story before,” Morgana said with mock interest, leaning in with her elbow on the table, chin in her hand.

“Morgana,” Arthur warned.

“That’s quite enough, Morgana,” Uther said without heat. “As I was saying, Sofia is beautiful, educated, quite the business woman. She’d make an ideal partner for someone like you.”

“Would she, now?” Arthur asked, his tone bored.

“Yes, she would.” Uther wiped his mouth again and placed his crumpled napkin on the table, leaning back in his chair, settling in to the subject. “You know,” he mused, “I think it’s good you’re heading to the continent without any sort of romantic attachment. Your dalliance with that Marvin fellow was all right while you were at university, but it’s high time you started thinking about the future.”

Morgana’s grin slid from her face and she gave Arthur a careful look. His face was impassive but a muscle in his jaw twitched. He took a sip of wine to forestall saying something he might regret.

Uther, sensing a change in mood, hastened to add, “No, no. Don’t misunderstand me. I’ve got nothing against that sort of thing,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Why, in my own uni days, I might have had my own dalliances with a chap or two.”

Arthur bolted upright in his chair. “Oh my god,” he said, voice strangled.

Morgana choked on her wine and dissolved into paroxysms of giggles, pointing at Arthur’s flushed, horrified face.

Uther continued on, as if unaware of his children’s reactions to this revelation. “Schoolboy experimentation is all well and good, but it’s time you grew up and settled down with a wife.”

“Please stop talking,” Arthur practically squeaked out.

“And eventually children,” Uther added.

Morgana was unrecoverable at this stage. She stood up from the table. “Water,” she gasped out. “I just need some water.”

“Sit down, Morgana. There’s a jug of water right here.”

But she was already gone from the room and soon, Arthur could hear peals of laughter coming from the kitchen.

Uther spoke again as if nothing was out of the ordinary.  “I think this project will be good for you, son, something to sink your teeth into. Give you a chance to make your mark on the world.”

“Yes, Father.”

At the end of the evening, Uther stood at the door with Arthur and Morgana as they took their leave. “Goodnight, Uther,” Morgana said, kissing him on the cheek. “It’s been… enlightening.”

“Oh my god, Morgana. Can you not?” Arthur looked pained.

“Walk me to my car?” Morgana asked.

Arthur sighed. “Of course. Goodnight, Father. I’ll let you know when I’m settled in Rome.”

“Good night.”

The evening air was brisk and cool on Arthur’s cheeks. He was glad the dinner was over. They walked together in silence until they reached Morgana’s car.

“Well, that was…” Morgana said.

“Deeply uncomfortable.”

“Disturbing, even.”

“Absolutely horrifying.”

“Yes, horrifying. That’s definitely the one.” They both laughed.

“Are you okay to drive?” Arthur asked. “I can call you a taxi.”

“I’m fine,” Morgana said. “I really didn’t have that much to drink. Most of it was before you got there when I was all alone with Uther.” Arthur nodded in understanding. “How long do you think you’ll be gone for?”

“Six months. Maybe longer.”

“That long?” She sounded wistful

“Father wants results in three months, but I don’t see how that’s possible.”

Morgana placed her hand on his arm. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Of course I do. It’s been planned for months.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“If this is about me working for Father again, you can keep your opinion to yourself. Just because you didn’t want to be part of Pendragon Holdings, doesn’t mean I feel the same. I’ve always planned to join the business. It’s what I went to school for. It’s what I’ve been working towards my whole life.”

Morgana ignored the frustration in his voice and pressed on. “I don’t have anything against you working for Uther. But do you have to go all the way to Italy to do it? And for so long? Six months is forever, probably longer if Uther has his way. You know he’s already got you half-married to this Sofia in his head, no doubt with little Italian children running around! He’ll probably talk you into staying in Rome to run the bloody thing after all is said and done.”

Arthur knew she was probably right about that last part, and maybe the rest too. But he didn’t want to think about that right now. He’d do the job because it’s what he’d planned. It’s what he was good at. It’s what Uther had asked of him and he had no intention of letting his father down.

“You do understand he could find another project for you right here in London. It doesn’t have to be Italy!”

“Yes it does have to be Italy,” Arthur bit out. He was done with this conversation. “It’s all arranged. And there are such things as aeroplanes.”

Morgana, seeing his resolve, relented. “But I’ll miss you.”

“Well, then you’ll just have to come and visit,” Arthur said, softening.

“All right. I will.” Morgana hesitated then asked, “Have you heard from Merlin?”

“You mean Marvin, my ‘youthful dalliance’?” He made wry air quotes with his fingers, but his words were tinged with bitterness. Morgana smiled kindly. “Only through Gwen. I haven’t seen him since the wedding. He’s busy with his masters.”

“Do you think you and he…?” She left the question open.

“No. I don’t know. I don’t see how.” Arthur ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated. “I’m going to Italy. He’s busy with his masters. Besides, I’m pretty sure he never wants to see me again.”

“Oh, Arthur.”

He didn’t reply, couldn’t.

“It’s just… you were so good together. I’ve never seen you happier.”

“Yes, well.” His throat was tight. “That’s all over.”

-o-

Arthur flipped through the property listings Sofia had sent. The first was a ridiculously large penthouse practically in the lap of the Basilica del Santi Pietro e Paolo, the landmark Catholic Church near the Tiber River. Although the 360-degree views were impressive, it had almost more terrace than interior. There were more bedrooms than Arthur could possibly need and he knew he’d never be able to relax in the frescoed dining room. Sofia’s notes read: _prestigious address, would be good for entertaining_. Arthur immediately crossed it off the list. He had no plans to entertain in his home. He needed a place to live, not an extension of the office. His notes in the margin read _: too big, too stuffy, too over-the-top, too… everything_.

The second was another large apartment, one of only four in the building with concierge service and elaborate gardens. Sofia had highlighted the concierge service and garage. Again, Arthur crossed it off the list. _Too big_ , he noted, although the garage was desirable. Then he added: _if I wanted concierge service, I’d just stay in a hotel._ He wondered, not for the first time, if initially he should do that anyway.

The third was an enormous top-of-the-line penthouse with a fitness centre, multiple levels and terraces, and a rooftop infinity pool, quite some distance from the work site. If he was going to live that far away, he’d opt for farther north on the other side of the river, perhaps in Trastavere, away from the oppressive architecture of the EUR district. The double garage and technical centre were tempting features, but Arthur couldn’t image why he’d need that much space while on temporary assignment, nor anything so grand. For a moment, he was reminded of Morgana’s comments after dinner the other night and suspected Uther had a hand in selecting the properties, no doubt hoping Arthur would think of Rome as a more long-term prospect.

Annoyed, he scanned the remainder of the listings, one high-end elaborate apartment after the other, then binned them all before shooting off a quick email to Sofia, outlining his objections to each and giving her specific parameters for the search—a modern apartment with garage access, two to three bedrooms, close to the Convention Centre. To be even more precise, he outlined the geographic boundaries on each side of his desired area: Viale Umberto Tupini the west, Via Liszt to the north, Viale Dell'Arte to the east and Parco Centrale del Lago to the south. He could hardly get more specific than that.

The next batch of properties were a decided improvement, even if most were still larger than he needed. But Arthur knew when to choose his battles. As he sifted through the pile, he was hopeful he’d find something acceptable.

The first was entirely too close to the project; he didn’t need to look right out his window and see the work site. There was yet another monstrosity of an apartment with marble floors, game room, and four baths. Slight overkill, Arthur thought. The third, however, had him sitting up to take a closer look.

The sixth floor apartment was the penthouse of a newly renovated building on Viale Beethoven. A wide balcony offered spectacular views. Additionally, it included a seventh floor terrace overlooking the city on all sides. Not too large with a modest interior, the three bedroom, two bathroom dwelling was an ideal size. He could set up the third bedroom as a home office and still have a guest bedroom available for Morgana’s visits. The first floor shops and tree-lined streets softened the stark lines and modern styling. It even had a garage. Arthur pored over the photos, noting both the Basilica del Santi Pietro e Paolo and the Colosseo Quadrato were visible in the distance. As he stared at the note Sofia had written for the property, his breath caught: _plain interior, but wonderful views. If you’re going to be living in Italy, you simply must have a view._

-o- 

[ _Florence, Italy – 2 years prior_ ]

Merlin pulled Arthur to the side at the entrance of Florence’s Santa Maria Novella train station, typing into his phone. “Just give me a sec. I’m pulling up directions. It’s supposed to be an easy walk to the Airbnb.”

“Put your phone away, Merlin. I know where we’re going.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“Yes, past the Basilica, down to the Arno then take a left.”

Merlin studied his map. “That’s… not correct.” He turned his screen towards Arthur. “See? The Gardens are over in this direction, the exact opposite of the Arno.”

“I may have changed our reservation.”

Merlin’s brow furrowed. “Changed our reservation?”

“Yes.”

“Without even discussing it with me?” Merlin asked, obviously annoyed. “That’s a little high-handed, even for you.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Fine. I’m surprised,” he snapped, putting his phone in his pocket. They stood there in silence. “Well,” Merlin said, stretching out his arm in Arthur’s direction. “Lead on.”

They walked side by side, not saying a word. Arthur knew Merlin was upset. He didn’t even comment as they spied the Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore in the distance, one of the sights he knew Merlin was eager to visit. “I should have nabbed a taxi and blindfolded you,” Arthur said.

“Because that would have been so much better.”

“It’d certainly be quicker, put me out of my misery sooner. You know I can’t stand it when you’re cross with me.”

That, at least, made Merlin chuckle. “That’s a dirty lie. You spent half of our time at uni trying to make me angry with you.”

“Only because I wanted your attention, Merlin. Surely you realised that.”

“God, you’re impossible.”

“You know you love me.”

“Whatever.”

“And,” Arthur went on, knowing he’d succeeded in lightening Merlin’s mood, “if I’d used a blindfold, we could have saved it for later and used it again.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Or we could just use that ugly striped tie of yours.”

“Oi,” Arthur exclaimed in mock outrage. “That tie is a classic.”

“Mm-hm, if you say so.”

After a few more minutes of walking quietly, Arthur said, “So what you’re saying is that you do want to be tied up and blindfolded, is that right?”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. When the Arno was in sight, Merlin asked, “So where are we staying?”

“I told you. It’s a surprise.” 

Merlin huffed, but Arthur could tell it was more for effect than any remaining frustration. When they walked past the Ponte Vecchio, Merlin turned to Arthur, eyes a little wide. “Arthur? Did you really?” Arthur grabbed his fingers and squeezed, then they walked hand in hand till they reached the entrance of the Hotel degli Orafi. “Oh my god,” Merlin said under his breath.

“Reservation for Pendragon,” Arthur said in Italian once they were inside.

“Here you are, Signor Pendragon, the desk clerk replied in English. “Room 414. Please, let us take your bags up to your room while you enjoy a welcome drink on our roof terrace.”

“Grazie,” Arthur said, as they relinquished their bags to the bellhop. Arthur fished a few euros out of his pocket for a tip.

“Grazie. Enjoy your stay and please don’t hesitate to let us know if we can make you more comfortable in any way.”

Merlin followed Arthur silently to the lift. Arthur kept stealing glances at him, taking in his pleasure at the elegant interior, his delight at the views once they’d settled on the terrace with their drinks. Arthur cleared his throat. “So… good surprise?”

Merlin’s eyes were shining. “I can’t believe you did this. You know, I checked the web site while we were planning the trip. I had heard you could rent the actual room used in the film, but I didn’t think it was possible for us. First of all, it was prohibitively expensive.”

“I know we said we wouldn’t—”

“It’s all right.” Merlin cut him off with a reassuring smile. “I’m not angry. I promise. But besides the cost, it was completely booked. How on earth did you get reservations? I was hoping we could visit while we were in Florence, but I never imagined we’d get to stay here.”

“I may have pulled some strings. The name Pendragon does mean something in certain circles.”

“Well, for once, I am not going to complain about you throwing your posh weight about to get your way.”

“You already did complain about it,” Arthur reminded him. “Your exact words were, I believe, ‘high-handed, even for you.’”

“I don’t remember saying any such thing,” remarked Merlin with wide-eyed innocence.

Later, they stood outside of Room 414. “After you,” Arthur said, unlocking the door and holding it open for Merlin. “Your Room with a View.”

Merlin grinned at Arthur then took a deep breath before walking through the doorway, spinning around the room, trying to take in everything at once. “I still can’t believe it.”

Arthur only had eyes for Merlin, watching as he explored, first touring the interior, the marble bath, the window by the bed, and finally the magnificent terrace. The sky was brilliant with color. The doors had been flung wide and Merlin’s dark hair was framed by the beauty of Florence, the Ponte Vecchio, the flowing water of the Arno, with the Giotto Bell Tower and the domed red-tiled roof of the Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore in the background. None of the sights, however, were as beautiful as Merlin’s smiling face as he turned towards Arthur, beckoning him to join him by the railing. Overwhelmed, Arthur strode to Merlin’s side, cupped his jaw and kissed him deeply, losing himself in the taste of joy.

After several long minutes, Merlin pulled back. “I do, you know,” he said softly.

“Do what?” Arthur asked, a little dazed, lightly stroking Merlin’s cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“Love you,” Merlin said, gazing steadily into Arthur’s eyes. “I love you so much.”

Arthur kissed him again.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

_“I rather mistrust young men who slip into life gracefully.”  
E.M. Forster, A Room with a View_

* * *

[ _Rome, Italy – current day_ ]

Arthur tossed his pen on the desk and pushed the stack of papers away, rubbing his temples where a headache was just beginning to take root. He’d been in Rome for well over a month, time filled with meeting after meeting—with investors, accounting, legal, city planners, local government. He was exhausted and hadn’t even begun to make headway on a recommendation. Uther was pressuring him already, though he had to know it was far too early in the process for Arthur to have anything useful to report.

The project was massive. Taking twenty years to complete, the new Convention Centre of the Esposizione Universale Roma district—the EUR—was finally open to the public. The Blade, however, the 439-room hotel attached to the centre, thus nicknamed because of its stark design, a rising dark tower to the east, was still in disarray. Combined, the centre and hotel were expected to bring in hundreds of millions of euros to the city each year, with The Blade hosting shops, an upscale spa, and a restaurant. Yet for now, the hotel languished unfinished and uninhabited. Uther hoped to make it part of Pendragon Holdings.

Arthur had been working non-stop to get a handle on the various moving pieces that would be required to make the project profitable. Although Arthur’s Italian was quite proficient, Sofia, a senior executive from their Rome offices, had been invaluable, able to translate nuance, as well as guide him through any tricky local customs and the complex web of Italian bureaucracy. In addition to all the scheduled meetings, they’d spent far too many late nights at various restaurants, courting important key players. The long hours were taking a toll.

When a quick caffè did little to ease Arthur’s growing headache or persistent weariness, he made an uncharacteristic decision. He buzzed Sofia’s assistant and left a message that something had come up and he’d be out of the office for the rest of the day. Then he went home and took a nap.

The sun was still bright when he awoke, disoriented and confused. He lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling no more refreshed than when he’d first collapsed on the mattress. Knowing it’d be futile to try and fall back asleep, as well as potentially wreak havoc with his rest that evening, he forced himself to get up and walk to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He stared at himself in the mirror, noting the dark shadows under his eyes, the pallor of his skin. He knew what Morgana would say if she saw him like this.

Ignoring the niggle of guilt at the back of his mind, Arthur changed into jeans and a striped shirt and put on comfortable leather loafers, heading out of his apartment towards the Laghetto dell'Eur. He opted to walk around the entire perimeter of the expansive man-man lake, trying to clear his mind of numbers and columns and meetings and a thousand different work-related issues. He was only partially successful. Eventually, he found himself on the far side of the lake and spied the famed Giolitti restaurant, renowned for its gelato, nestled amongst the green. Arthur immediately altered direction. A short while later, cup of gelato in hand, he walked back towards the edge of the lake and sat down on a nearby bench.

The sun was warm on his face, the gelato sweet and cool on his tongue. Ahead, a kayaker paddled past, smoothly gliding across the water’s surface. Arthur sat till he finished his treat, enjoying watching the people in the park. Then he spied a young man with dark hair sitting under a tree, book propped up on his knees. A pang of longing ran through him, so intense it was like a physical pain. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, focusing on the soft breeze, the sound of a dog barking in the distance, the smell of the grass under his feet.

  
-o-

  
[ _Cambridge University, England – 4 years prior]_

“Oh, look. There’s Merlin,” Gwen said to Arthur, as they walked back to King’s College from Sidgwick site where Arthur had been attending a lecture. “Merlin!” Gwen called. “Merlin!” She tugged Arthur with her off the path into the grass of Scholars’ Piece where someone clad in jeans and a red tee, Merlin presumably, was sitting under a tree, his back against the trunk, reading.

Engrossed in his book, he didn’t even notice them until Gwen kicked at his knee with her foot. He looked up startled, blue eyes unfocused. “Merlin,” she said laughing. “You were certainly lost to the world. Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

“Apparently not,” he said bemused.

“I’m surprised to see you outside the library, to be honest. I’d almost thought you’d moved in.”

Merlin shrugged. “It’s so nice out. I didn’t want to spend the day inside.”

The weather was gorgeous, warm and clear, the grass a deep green. Punters were out rowing on the Cam, and across the river, the white stone of the Chapel rose towards the sky against a backdrop of vivid blue.

Arthur reached down and plucked the book from Merlin’s hands.

“ _Howards End_ ,” he read off the spine. “Wasn’t that a film?”

Clearly irritated, Merlin almost looked like he wouldn’t deign to answer. Then he said curtly, “Yes, but it was a book first.”

“Oh, you’re one of those,” Arthur said with a condescending laugh.

“Arthur,” Gwen said softly, almost scolding.

“One of those,” Merlin repeated. “One of what? A… reader?”

Arthur looked delighted. “Ha. Good one.” He nodded in appreciation.

Merlin looked unamused. The he stood, snatching the book back from Arthur. Arthur was a little surprised to find himself staring eye-to-eye. Merlin seemed a lot smaller on the ground, but they were at least of equal height.

Gwen stepped slightly between them. “Arthur, this is Merlin. Merlin, this is Arthur, my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Merlin asked with mock dismay. “Gwen, love, you could do so much better.”

Now Arthur was the irritated one. “Oh, really?” he asked. “Someone like you, I suppose?”

Merlin barked out a laugh and Arthur’s irritation grew. “Hardly,” Merlin said. “She’s not exactly my type.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed. Not his type? Gwen was everybody’s type. She was absolutely perfect—beautiful, kind, smart, sweet, funny, with the voice of an angel. Who wouldn’t love her? Puzzled, he stared at Merlin. A moment later, his confusion cleared. There was something about Merlin’s stance, the poncy scarf around his neck. “Ah, of course,” he proclaimed, nodding sagely. “ _Howard’s_ End.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “What are you, twelve?” He turned to Gwen. “Gwen, no offense, but your boyfriend’s a right git.”

Gwen laughed. “You’re not wrong.”

“Oi! Standing right here!”

Gwen leaned into Arthur, beaming up at him. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin atop her head. “We were just getting some food. Come join us.” Gwen said to Merlin. “We’ll sit outside in Chetwynd Court so we can still enjoy the day.”

Merlin glanced skeptically at Arthur, who gave an indifferent shrug. “Fine,” he said, sighing, and leaned down to stow his book inside his backpack.

“Excellent,” Gwen said. “I’ve been hoping the two of you could get to know each other.”

-o-

After meeting Merlin, in true Baader-Meinhof fashion, Arthur began to notice him everywhere. He spied him in Sidgwick site attending lectures, ran into him at meals, even saw him cheering on some of Arthur’s mates during a rugby match. Merlin, Arthur was discovering, seemed to know everyone.

“Is that Merlin with Gwaine?” Arthur asked Gwen as they entered the pub one Friday evening.

“Yes, they’re friends. Which you’d know if you spent less time on economics.”

“Now, that’s not fair. I play footie. With Gwaine, I might add. And I’ve developed quite an intimate relationship with a music student. The _arts_ , Guinevere. I’m not just a numbers man.”

“Fair point.” Gwen grinned up at him.

By this time, Gwaine had noticed them. “Wart, Gwen, over here,” he called.

“So you two know each other?” Arthur asked, nodding in Merlin’s direction as Gwen slid into the booth next to Merlin, with Arthur sitting opposite, next to Gwaine.

“We do, indeed. Extremely well,” Gwaine drawled with a leer.

Merlin’s cheeks colored a little and he rolled his eyes. “Classy,” he muttered, amusing Arthur.

“You’re such a slag, Gwaine,” Arthur accused.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, “If you’re going to be seeing this reprobate, you should know Gwaine and I were in sixth form together. I can tell you anything you want to know about him. I have stories.”

“It’s… not really like that,” Merlin said, fidgeting, his discomfort obvious. “We’re just friends.”

“Merlin, you tart!” Arthur said with glee.

“You know, I really should be going,” Merlin said, rising, turning to Gwen to be let out of the booth.

Gwaine reached across the table and grabbed his sleeve, tugging him back in his seat. “Aw, stay awhile, mate. Don’t mind Wart here. He’s an arse, for sure, but he’s not a bad bloke.” Turning to Arthur, he added, “Behave yourself and quit teasing the lad. Let’s have a few pints. In fact, I think you should get this round.”

“And the next,” Gwen agreed.

“I see how things are,” said Arthur. “All right. Drinks are on me tonight.”

“In that case, maybe I will stay,” said Merlin.

Over the course of the next few hours, Arthur learned that Merlin was from a small village in Wales and he was studying English. He had chosen Cambridge largely for its archive of E.M. Forster’s writings. Merlin learned that Arthur was an economics student—“of course you are”—and how Arthur and Gwen had met. Morgana had stopped for a visit and had wished to hear some of the university’s famed choral music. They had attended Evensong in the Chapel before dinner where the King’s Voices, the College’s mixed choir, were performing. Arthur had heard one bar of Gwen’s solo and was instantly smitten. Some minor stalking later, and she’d agreed to a date. Gwen and Merlin had met as first years, both housed in the Keynes Building.

“Nobody wants to know how you and Merlin met,” Arthur assured Gwaine.

“Ah, it was very romantic, much like your own tale,” said Gwaine.

“I pulled him at a club,” Merlin chimed in drily, making everyone laugh.

Soon, Arthur could barely remember what university was like before he’d met Gwen and she’d introduced him to Merlin. They fit seamlessly into Arthur’s circle of friends, which then grew to include theirs as well. Not a week went by where they didn’t get together for one activity or another—out to the pub, shared meals, to a sporting match or performance, movie nights in one of their rooms.

“What are we watching tonight?” Arthur asked, as they lounged in one of the common rooms.

“Count me out,” said Gwaine. “Told Elena I’d meet her for drinks.”

“Count me out too,” said Mithian, one of Gwen’s friends from the choir. “I’ve got to work on my essay.”

“What about you?” Arthur asked Percy, a gentle giant of a man from his football team. He suspected the answer would be yes now that Mithian wasn’t available.  
  
“Sure, I’d be up for watching a film.”

“It’s Merlin’s pick tonight,” said Gwen. “You chose last time, Arthur, and I had the week before.”

“Don’t I get a turn?” Percy asked.

“No,” the other three said in unison.

“Sorry, mate,” said Arthur, standing and clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve got to do movie night more than once a term to have a say.”

“I do,” said Percy, but his protestations were half-hearted. “I’ve done enough movie nights to know Merlin’s going to dust off another of his old Englishmen abroad flicks. At least Arthur’s usually have explosions.”

“Oh, please,” teased Gwen. “We all know you like the rom-coms the best. You’re not fooling anyone, Percy.”

“God,” said Arthur. “Please don’t put us through another Forster film, Merlin. _Howards End_ was excellent, I’ll give you that. Emma Thompson is a national treasure. But that Italian one with the baby and the carriage crash, I could have done without that one.”

They all walked towards Merlin’s room. “You know the rules,” Merlin said. “My turn, my choice. I’ve sat through every Bond film you’ve selected.”

“You’re complaining about Bond?” Arthur asked. “Really? Bond? You’ve got to be joking. It doesn’t get more classic than that. Gwen, back me up here.”

“To be honest, I wouldn’t mind switching it up a bit next time around.”

“The treachery,” Arthur gasped, hand over his heart.

“Don’t worry, mate,” Percy said. “I’ve got your back.”

“Good man,” Arthur said.

“Who do you reckon they’ll pick for the next Bond, anyway?” asked Percy.

“Tom Hardy,” Arthur said immediately.

“Idris Elba,” said Gwen.

“Also acceptable,” Arthur nodded in agreement.

“Gillian Anderson,” said Merlin.

“Ha. I knew you were a Bond fan. That’s an answer only someone who’s given the matter some serious thought would say.”

 “Fine. They’re not terrible,” Merlin conceded. “And I’ll make you a fan of my Englishmen abroad flicks yet.”

“You can certainly try.”

They had reached Merlin’s room and were getting comfortable in their usual spots. Merlin’s had become the preferred movie space for the group. Now in his second year, he had been able to move out of Keynes Building and had lucked into one of the two-room sets in Bodley Hall, comprised of a sitting room and a separate bedroom. With coved ceilings, built-in shelving, and a fireplace (non-working), it was comfortable and spacious. A second-hand sofa and a few armchairs allowed plenty of seating for them all.

“What’ll it be tonight?” asked Gwen.

“Um…” Merlin gave a small sheepish laugh. “I was thinking _A Room with a View_. It may happen to have some Englishmen abroad. Or Englishwomen, rather.”

“Ugh,” said Arthur, dramatically throwing himself down flat on the floor from where he was sat by Gwen’s feet, draping his forearm across his eyes. “When I said you can certainly try, I meant it as a verbal riposte. I didn’t mean for you to actually try.”

“This earned a BAFTA, I’ll have you know,” said Merlin. “And several Academy Awards. I promise it’s much better than _Where Angels Fear to Tread_.”

“Don’t you like any films from the current decade?” Arthur grumbled.

“Silence from the cheap seats,” commanded Percy.

“Hear, hear,” Gwen chimed in.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Merlin said, as he connected his laptop to the oversize monitor on his desk. “If you don’t like this one, the next time it’s my turn, I’ll abstain and you can pick for me.”

“Done!” said Arthur, sitting upright and settling himself against Gwen’s calves, where she sat on the sofa above him.

As was typical, Arthur kept up a running commentary throughout the film, which was one of the reasons they’d had to stop using the common room for movie nights. When Lucy Honeychurch and her chaperone, older cousin Charlotte, appear in the Pensione Bertolini, complaining about their lack of view, Arthur exclaimed, “My word. First Professor Trelawney and Bellatrix Lestrange in _Howards End_. Now we’ve got Bellatrix again, but this time with Professor McGonagall. Merchant-Ivory do love their Harry Potter actors, don’t they?”

“Don’t even bother, Merlin,” Gwen piped up. “He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”

“No worries. I’m ignoring him,” said Merlin.

As the two Englishwomen meet the other guests, including the free-thinking Mr. Emerson, his handsome son George, and the novelist Eleanor Lavish, Arthur sat up straight. “Is that Dame Judi Dench I see? Merlin, you didn’t tell me M, the head of the MI6 herself, was in this film.”

“Arthur, Judi Dench is in this film,” said Merlin.

“You may have redeemed yourself after all. Percy, are you seeing this?”

“Yes, I see,” said Percy. “Fine actor she is.”

“Professor McGonagall’s a sour one, isn’t she?” Gwen commented about Lucy’s uptight cousin Charlotte.

“A sourpuss,” Arthur agreed. “You know, I think I like her better as a cat.”

Merlin hit Arthur in the back of the head with a pillow. “Do shut up.”

Arthur squawked then launched himself at Merlin, pinning him against the back of the sofa and pummeling him in the face with the pillow while Merlin, out of breath and laughing, squirmed in an attempt to shield himself.

“Arthur,” Gwen shrieked, trying to back away from the flailing limbs. “Must you every single time? You’re such a child.”

“He started it. Say mercy,” Arthur demanded of Merlin, before giving a pained “oof” as Merlin’s knee connected with his stomach. “Percy, help me out. He’s very… wiggly.”

“Sorry, mate,” said Percy, calm and unbothered. “You’re on your own.”

“Give me that,” said Gwen, grabbing the pillow from Arthur’s hands and giving him her own smack with it on the back of his head. “Now sit down and let’s enjoy the film.”

“Do you yield?” Arthur asked Merlin, still keeping him restrained.

“Not in a million years.”

Arthur released him anyway, saying, “I think we both know who won that round.”

“Yeah, Gwen,” said Percy.

Gwen reached around Arthur to high five Percy.

Merlin insisted on going back to the point in the film before the interruption, ignoring Arthur’s grumbles. Mr. Emerson and his son give up their rooms, which have views of Florence, to the two Englishwomen. Lucy explores the city on her own and faints in the Piazza after witnessing a violent altercation between two Italians. She comes to in George’s arms.

“Now kiss,” said Gwen.

“It’s far too soon,” Arthur contradicted. “She hasn’t disliked him nearly long enough yet.”

A group of the pensione residents take a carriage ride to the countryside to see a view. George communes with nature by climbing a tree and shouting about beauty and joy. Then Lucy comes upon George standing alone in a barley field dotted with poppies. When he spies her, he strides boldly through the tall grass and kisses her passionately, surrounded by the lush landscape, the beautiful strains of Puccini’s “Chi il Bel Sogno Di Doretta” accompanying the romantic scene.

“Oh, swoon,” said Gwen. “Pay attention, Arthur.”

“So noted,” he said, tipping his head back into her lap and reaching up to put his hand at the back of her neck and pulling her forward into a kiss, her brown curls tumbling around them.

“We’re not pausing the film while you two snog,” said Merlin.

Without removing his lips from Gwen’s, Arthur lifted a hand in Merlin’s direction and made a rude gesture.

The film continued uninterrupted as Lucy eventually returns to England and becomes engaged to the wealthy Cecil Vyse. Lucy’s brother, Freddy, played by Rupert Graves, makes his opinion clear: Cecil is a snob.

“Wait a minute,” Arthur said. “Are you telling me Lestrade there was in love with Bellatrix in _Where Angels Fear to Tread_ and now she’s his sister? That’s positively kinky.”

After an extremely awkward kiss between Cecil and Lucy, Arthur firmly aligns himself with brother Freddy. “How on earth can Lucy marry Cecil? Cecil’s no more interested in women than you are, Merlin. Besides, he’s a total wanker. You’re making a mistake, Lucy,” he shouted at the screen. “Choose George.”

A chance encounter at the National Gallery finds Cecil recommending Lucy’s village to Mr. Emerson and George, who are looking for a place to let. Lucy is torn between a proper society life with Cecil or the promised passion glimpsed through her encounters with George.

Freddy and the Reverend Mr. Beebe, another guest from the pensione in Florence, welcome George to the area by inviting him for a swim in a local lake. As they cavort and splash naked together, blond George’s strong shoulders and muscled backside emerge from the water, as if carved in marble by Michelangelo himself.

“I know who I’d choose,” said Gwen. She leaned over to ruffle Arthur’s golden hair. “Sorry, love. I think I may have a type.”

“As long as your type includes me,” Arthur said, patting the top of Gwen’s foot.

There’s another stolen kiss after a tennis match and Lucy confronts George, telling him he should leave her alone. George makes his case, calling out Cecil: _“I'd have held back if Cecil was different. But he's the sort who can't know anyone intimately, least of all a woman.”_

“Ha. Knew it.” bragged Arthur.

Lucy eventually breaks off her engagement to Cecil and after tears and heartfelt confessions, ends up married to George, with the film closing on the romantic scene of the two of them kissing, framed by the window in the Pensione Bertolini, a breathtaking view of Florence behind them.

Gwen let out a loud exaggerated sigh. “Excellent choice, Merlin. That was gorgeous. I might have to take my boyfriend home and ravish him now.”

“Too much information,” Merlin said, smiling at Arthur’s silent cheering motions from the floor. “And what’s the verdict from our resident critic?” he asked, nudging Arthur in the back with his toe. “Do I have to forfeit my next pick?”

“If you say you didn’t like it,” Percy chimed in, “I’m going to call you a liar.”

“I told you,” said Gwen. “Percy’s here for the rom-coms.”

“It wasn’t terrible,” admitted Arthur and decided to ignore Merlin’s smug expression.

Several weeks later, it was just the three of them, Merlin, Arthur, and Gwen, wrapping up another movie night in Merlin’s room.

“Are you going to walk me home?”

“Of course, my darling buttercup.”

“ _Buttercup?_ ” mouthed Merlin to Gwen, who smiled back with a shrug.

“Never let it be said that chivalry is dead. I shall escort you straight to your door. I’ll even see you safely inside, should the lady wish,” Arthur added with a rakish grin and an eyebrow waggle.

 “Goodnight, Merlin,” Gwen said as they walked to the door.

“Night,” Merlin said with a wide yawn, rumpled and tired, curled up on one end of the sofa.

“You look like a grumpy kitten,” Arthur said, almost fondly.

Merlin scowled. “Kindly fuck off, Arthur,” he said. And then in a cheerier tone, “Love you, Gwen.”

“A kitten with claws.” Merlin pulled the pillow out from under his head and threw it at Arthur. “You wound me, Merlin. Truly, you do.” Merlin just groaned and buried his head in his arms.

When they reached Gwen’s door, Arthur crowded up against her, leaning in for a snog. “Are you going to invite me in?” he asked suggestively. He drew back when he felt her hand pressed against his chest.

“What is it?” Arthur asked.

Gwen gave him a shaky smile. “We need to talk.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Let’s go inside and sit down.”

Gwen pulled him down to sit next to her on the edge of her bed. She twisted her fingers together nervously. Arthur took her fingers in his own, stilling them. “Are you pregnant?” he asked.

“What?” Her surprise was genuine. “No. No, it’s nothing like that.”

Arthur visibly relaxed. “Then what is it? You know you can tell me anything.”

Gwen steeled herself. After a long pause, the words came out in a rush. “I think we should see other people.”

“What?” This time, the surprise was Arthur’s. He felt as if a glass of cold water had been tossed in his face. “Why? I thought things were going really well.”

“They were. They are,” she stammered.

“Then why? Is there someone else?” Arthur asked.

“No. It’s nothing like that. There’s no one else. I promise.”

“Did I do something wrong? Are you angry with me? Let me fix it. Whatever it is, I can fix it.”

“No,” she assured him. “You’ve been lovely. You’re lovely, Arthur.”

“I don’t understand.” Even to himself his voice sounded small and lost.

Gwen struggled to explain. “I just don’t think this is the right time for us. It’s just… I just think we both deserve better.”

“Better?” Arthur asked, bewildered. “I can’t imagine anyone better than you.”

“See?” Gwen said with a warm gentle smile, dark eyes soft. She reached up and placed her hand against his cheek. “You’re lovely.” He moved his own hand atop hers, trying to hold it in place. “I do love you, Arthur.”

“Then why? You know how I feel about you. Please don’t do this."

“I think this is for the best. I know you don’t agree with me right now, and I’m sorry about that. But I think one day you’ll come to see I’m right.”

The following evening, Merlin spotted Arthur in the pub, several empty shot glasses on the bar in front of him. “Arthur?” One look at him and Merlin could tell he was already very drunk. “Are you here by yourself?

Arthur gave a small humorless laugh. “Yes, all alone. Gwen broke it off with me.”

“Oh.” Merlin sat on the stool next to him.

“Did she say anything to you?”

“No, I can’t say that she did.”

“I don’t understand. I thought… well, never mind what I thought. I was obviously wrong.” He waved his hand to the barman, motioning him over. “What’ll you have, Merlin?”

“Nothing for me. I can’t stay. Need to work on my essay. I was just on my way out.”

“Nonsense. You can’t let me drink alone. Two more shots,” Arthur told the barman.

“Not for me,” Merlin said, shaking his head.

“And two pints.”

The barman cocked his eyebrow at Merlin questioningly, and Merlin nodded. “Fine. I’ll stay for one. And can I trouble you for some water as well?”

One pint turned into several, as Arthur, maudlin and full of self-pity, poured out his misery. When he tried to order yet another round, Merlin put his foot down. “No. Absolutely not. I’ve had enough and you’ve certainly had enough. Drink the water, please.” When his efforts to get Arthur out of the pub proved futile, he resorted to calling Gwaine.

“It’s Merlin. Look, can you come get Arthur? Ran into him at the pub and he’s completely pissed. Apparently, Gwen broke it off. I know! No, no idea why. He’s absolutely wankered. I’m half afraid he’s going to break down and cry, or worse, break into song. I don’t feel right leaving him here by himself and I’ve no idea where his rooms are. He’s absolutely no help at all. OK. Thanks. See you soon.”

When Gwaine arrived, he took one look at Arthur and shook his head. “Come on, you,” he said, putting one of Arthur’s arms over his shoulder and hauling him to his feet. “Let’s get you home. Merlin, get his other arm.” They propelled the unsteady Arthur toward the door, Merlin giving the barman a quick, “Cheers, mate. Thanks,” as they left.

“Which way,” asked Merlin once they were outside.

“This way,” Gwaine said. “It’s not too far. He’s in one of the terraced houses on Little Saint Mary.”

“Of course he is.” Merlin said, sounding unsurprised Arthur wasn’t staying in any of the College accommodations. As they walked, Arthur began to quietly croon off-key. Merlin snorted. “I told you he was going to start singing.”

“At least it’s not the crying,” Gwaine said with good cheer. The walk wasn’t far. When they got to the door, Gwaine held out his hand, “Wart, let me have your keys.”

“You’re going to have to let go of my arms,” Arthur slurred.

“I’ve got him,” said Gwaine. But as soon as Merlin slipped out from under Arthur’s shoulder, he started to sway dangerously. Gwaine wrapped his other arm around Arthur’s middle to keep him upright. “Reach into his pocket and get the keys,” Gwaine said to Merlin. To Arthur he said, “You’re completely useless, mate.”

Once they’d got him inside and up the stairs to his bedroom, they deposited him on top of the mattress. Gwaine pulled off Arthur’s shoes and undid his flies, tugging his trousers off so he was left in his boxers. “You could help me out here,” he groused at Arthur, who remained passive throughout the process. “I’m going to poke around to see if I can find some paracetamol,” he said to Merlin. “Stay with him till I get back?” Merlin nodded.

“You should sleep on your side,” Merlin said to Arthur, who was flat on his back, knees bent over the edge of the mattress.

“I never get sick from drink,” Arthur drunkenly proclaimed. “I have an excellent constitution.”

“I’m sure you do,” Merlin placated. “But do it anyway. Come on.” He picked up Arthur’s calves and rotated them before shoving them onto the mattress. “I’m going to put this here, just in case,” he said, placing the bin near the bedside table. “Now on your side,” he said, taking Arthur’s arm and pulling it. Arthur was practically immovable. “God, you’re heavy. Move, you great lug.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

Merlin huffed out a laugh. “Hardly. You’re just sort of… solid. Now come on. Roll over.” He gave another tug, this time with success.

As Arthur lay on the bed, head spinning, eyes closed, he felt Merlin’s cool fingers brushing the hair away from his face. “Mmm, feels nice,” he murmured with a soft hum. Gwaine’s footsteps could be heard on the stairs and suddenly Merlin’s fingers were gone. Arthur cracked open his eyes to see Gwaine coming into the bedroom.

“I’m just going to leave these here,” he said, placing a glass of water and a couple of tablets on the bedside table. “If you can manage, it’d be better if you drank this now.”

“I made him have some water at the pub,” said Merlin.

“Good lad.”

“Do you think one of us should stay? I put the bin by the bed.”

“Nah,” said Gwaine. “He’ll be all right. I’ve seen him in worse shape than this. Call me tomorrow, Wart, and let me know you’re alive.”

Arthur let out a noncommittal grunt and Gwaine took that as an agreement. Arthur heard the click of the light switch, low voices as Merlin and Gwaine walked down the stairs—Merlin asking why he was hosting movie nights when it was obvious they should all be coming to Arthur’s—then the snick of the front door closing as they let themselves out.

After a few weeks and some initial awkwardness, everything was back to normal. Arthur and Gwen both attended group get-togethers, sporting events, pub nights, and movie nights, not making the slightest attempt to avoid each other. They could be found in easy conversation, joking and talking, just as before. Somehow, their friendship remained as strong as it had always been, only without the sex and the snogging. And maybe Arthur could kind of see her point now.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

_“By the side of the everlasting Why there is a Yes – a transitory Yes if you like, but a Yes.”  
E.M. Forster, A Room with a View_

* * *

  
“What are you even on about?” asked Merlin.

They were at the pub with a large group of friends, celebrating the football team’s latest win.

“I think I may have been a bit hasty when I said Lucy should marry George,” said Arthur.

“You can’t possibly think she should have married Cecil.”

“Well, he wasn’t all bad, now, was he? Good position in society, wealthy. And Daniel Day-Lewis, Merlin, one of Britain’s finest actors.”

“She’s not marrying the actor, you prat. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” Merlin was outraged. “You called him a flaming poofter and said he was a complete wanker. Plus you said, and I quote, ‘never trust a man who refuses to play tennis.’” He mimicked Arthur’s voice, exaggerating his posh accent.

“George was hardly much better. What kind of future, I ask you, can a philosopher give her?” He said philosopher like it was a dirty word.

“Bloody hell,” Leon, another footie teammate, said from the other end of the table, eyes wide, completely gobsmacked. He stared at Merlin and Arthur who continued to bicker, Arthur becoming increasingly condescending and arrogant while Merlin became more scathing and prickly.

“I know,” said Gwen.

“I couldn’t understand why in the world the two of you broke it off. Seemed like the perfect couple. I thought you’d go the distance, to be truthful.” Leon was still staring at the two men in disbelief. “Does Morgana know, do you think?” They’d all met Arthur’s sister on her many visits to Cambridge.

“No idea,” said Gwen. “If anybody would know, it’d be Morgana, though.”

“Wow. I honestly had no idea.”

“Now me,” said Gwaine, chiming in, “I might have had somewhat of an idea.” He took a sip of ale, nonchalant, enjoying the reaction to his small bombshell.

“Really?” asked Gwen, surprised and scandalized and delighted all at once. “God, you really are a slag. Arthur, really?”

“It was only the one time and not much of anything. And it was long before the two of you got together,” he assured her. “You know how those public schoolboys are, all curious. Like to pass if off as a bonding ritual or something.”

“Huh,” Leon said, deep in thought.

“I’m still not sure either of them has the slightest idea,” said Gwen, looking over at the arguing pair with affection.

Gwaine chuckled, taking another drink. “Longest foreplay session ever.”

At that, Arthur looked over, distracted from winding Merlin up. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” said Gwaine.

Arthur just shrugged and turned back to his conversation, clearly losing interest in the interruption. Merlin, however, had definitely overheard. His cheeks were flushed with color and he was looking at Arthur in complete panic, as if he were about to run right from the room.

-o-

“Gwen,” Arthur shouted, spying her on West Road near the music building as he was leaving Sidgwick site. She waved and waited while he caught up to her. “Where are you headed?” he asked.

“I was going to grab a bite to eat before I have to be at the Chapel.”

“Fancy a walk to Fitzbillies?” Arthur asked, indicating the café and bakery near his house. “My treat.”

“All right. I think I’ve got time. Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” They chatted as they walked, enjoying the mild afternoon weather. “Where’s Merlin been, by the way?” Arthur asked. “It’s been ages since we’ve done a movie night and I haven’t seen him at the pub.”

“I think he’s just been busy. End of term coming up. You know how it is.”

“Hmm. It feels like he’s been avoiding me.”

“Why would he be avoiding you?”

“Well, I don’t know now, do I?”

“If you’re that worried about it, you should go and see him.”

“I never said I was worried.”

“You sounded sort of worried.”

“I’m not—” he said, then cut himself off when he realised Gwen was teasing him.

She laughed. “But seriously, you should just stop by and say hello. Everyone likes to know they’ve been missed.”

“I never said I missed him, Guinevere. I was just wondering.”

“Whatever you say.”

After they ate, Arthur decided he would go visit Merlin. He said goodbye to Gwen with a kiss on the cheek, then dropped off his backpack at home before heading back to King’s College. He supposed he should have called first, but if Merlin was avoiding him (and Arthur was certain he was, no matter what Gwen might say), Arthur didn’t want to give him the chance to say no.

When Merlin opened the door to his room, blocking the entrance with his arm, Arthur ducked underneath, letting himself in. “Merlin, there you are,” he said, ignoring Merlin’s irritation.

“What are you doing here, Arthur?” Merlin asked.

“Do I need a reason to come visit a friend? I haven’t seen you in ages so thought I’d stop by to say hello.”

“Um… hello. Now I’ve really got loads of work to do, so…”

“Come out for a coffee. Or a pint, if you’d rather. Or a bite to eat. You have to eat, don’t you? Man cannot live by schoolwork alone.”

“I’ve already eaten. And I’ve got a kettle here.”

Arthur stared at the stubborn set of his jaw. “You do realise I’m not going to take no for an answer. If you refuse to leave the room, then I’m going to force you to take a break right here. It’s a Monday. How much work could you possibly have on a Monday?”

Merlin’s nostrils flared as he stared at Arthur in disbelief. “You are the most overbearing—”

“Yes, yes,” Arthur said dismissively with a wave of his hand. “I know. Overbearing, obnoxious, arrogant, prattish, et cetera, et cetera.” He walked over to Merlin’s bookshelves as he spoke and started riffling through his stack of DVDs. “We can watch one of your fusty English toff flicks. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“You’ve got some nerve—”

Arthur interrupted again. “Good Lord. Is that Hugh Grant?” He held up one of the cases. “He’s positively an infant. We’ve got to watch this one. _Maurice_. Ah, Forster, of course. You love him, Merlin. You can’t possibly say no to Forster.” 

Merlin shifted uncomfortably. “I really don’t mind all the Bond. Since you’re here anyway, we may as well watch something you’d enjoy too.”

“Nonsense. I’m the one interrupting your day. And baby-faced Hugh Grant, Merlin. I’m afraid I have to insist.”

Merlin gave a weary sigh and rolled his eyes, accepting the inevitable defeat. “Fine.” He snatched the DVD out of Arthur’s hand and after connecting the laptop to the monitor and slipping the disc into the drive, settled on the sofa. Arthur took his customary seat on the floor, shoulder pressing against Merlin’s knee.

The film begins with Maurice Hall, an English schoolboy whose father is no longer living, being educated about sex by his teacher Mr. Ducie, played by Simon Callow.

“Is that really the Reverend Mr. Beebe drawing a gigantic willy in the sand?” Arthur asked. 

The story moves to Maurice’s time at Cambridge where he meets fellow student Clive Durham.

“Ha. Cambridge. Look at that set, Merlin, ageless beauty. Just think. That could be you and I up there on the screen. They’re a second and a third year too. I’m obviously Clive. He’s much more cultured than young Maurice. And I daresay my good looks will age at least as well as Hugh Grant.”

Merlin made a noncommittal noise.

As the two young men grow closer, Arthur commented, “I do believe I’m sensing some sexual tension.” Then he became uncharacteristically quiet as Clive and Maurice wrestle on the floor. In an instant, his and Merlin’s entire relationship was recast and Arthur stilled, mind whirling.

He barely comprehended what was on the screen after this unexpected revelation. That is, until Maurice and Clive are sat together, much like he and Merlin were now, Clive against Maurice’s leg. Maurice gently strokes his fingers through the hair at Clive’s temple and Arthur felt the phantom touch of Merlin brushing his hair off his forehead the night he got pissed in the pub after his break-up with Gwen.

And then Merlin’s actual fingers were in his hair, light against his scalp. Arthur’s eyes fluttered shut and he felt his entire body tremble. Merlin’s touch was tentative and unsure, but it was enough to set Arthur’s pulse pounding. He was afraid to breathe. When Arthur didn’t pull away, Merlin’s touch became more firm, threading through the soft tendrils at the base of his neck. Arthur shivered and then his head dropped back and to the side, against Merlin’s thigh, the heat like a furnace.

He heard Merlin’s sharp intake of breath and opened his eyes. Above him, Merlin was staring down at him, eyes dark, lips parted. His hand twitched, slightly pulling at Arthur’s hair and Arthur felt a shock of arousal surge through him. They stared, unmoving, for an endless moment. Then Arthur lifted his head, Merlin’s hand falling into his lap, and he rose from the floor to sit beside Merlin on the sofa.

The film played unnoticed in the background. Arthur’s full attention was on Merlin’s face, his high cheekbones, deep blue eyes, and plush pink lips. Heart racing, Arthur leaned closer, touching his lips to Merlin’s in a gentle world-shattering kiss.

Merlin’s hand lifted to Arthur’s head, sliding back into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. When Merlin’s tongue slipped into Arthur’s mouth, a noise unlike any he’d ever made before was torn from Arthur’s throat.  
  
And then his control snapped. His hands were everywhere, trying to pull Merlin closer, to touch him all over, roaming over his shoulders, down the shape of his spine. His lips were demanding, moving surely against Merlin’s, tongue licking behind his teeth, mouth swallowing every moan coming from Merlin’s mouth. He pushed Merlin back against the sofa, body pressing him down and then he was panting, mouth hot on Merlin’s neck while Merlin’s hands slid under his shirt, leaving trails of fire on his skin. Arthur was mindless with pleasure, rubbing against Merlin’s thigh, and he thought his brain would explode from the sensations coursing through him. “Merlin,” he gasped. “Merlin. I want…”

“What? What do you want?”

“Anything… everything.”

Arthur was kissing him again, mouth insatiable.

“Have you ever?” Merlin asked against his lips.

Arthur nodded his head. “Yes. No, just… no. I’ve got no idea what I’m doing.” He gave a small laugh that quickly turned into a moan as he felt Merlin shift, the hardness of his cock pressing against his own.

“Here, let me…” then Merlin’s hands were between them, deftly unfastening their flies. He pulled Arthur’s cock free, then released his own, gripping them together, slender fingers wrapped around them both. Overwhelmed, Arthur could only stare down at the sight of their cocks sliding together as Merlin moved his fist up and down, thumb sweeping over the wetness at the head.

In moments, the sensation was too much, too unbearable. Arthur closed his eyes and dropped his head to Merlin’s neck, fingers digging tightly into Merlin’s shoulders, hips bucking uncontrollably. He was desperate for the feel of Merlin’s cock against his own. Arthur could hear Merlin’s pants of, “Yes, yes, so good, yes,” and realised the high keening he heard must be coming from himself.

He felt his orgasm building, shivers running all along his spine. A few more twists of Merlin’s wrist as he stroked them together and Arthur was groaning into Merlin’s skin, his release spilling over Merlin’s fist. Then he felt the pulse of Merlin’s own cock as he came, his cries of, “Arthur, god, Arthur,” hot against his ear.

Arthur woke in the middle of the night, Merlin’s face inches from his own.

They had collapsed on the sofa boneless and sated, breathing heavily, too enervated to move. Arthur continued to press slow wet kisses against Merlin’s skin while Merlin ran his hands over Arthur’s strong back, humming contentedly. Eventually, Merlin pushed Arthur away. “Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?”

He got up and turned the film off, returning with a damp cloth and cleaning both their stomachs. Arthur hissed as Merlin’s fingers brushed against his sensitive cock and Merlin repeated the motion with a small grin. “Come lie down?” Merlin asked, nodding towards the bedroom, holding out his hand. Without hesitation, Arthur let himself be pulled up and led into the bedroom, both of them stripping to their underpants before sliding between the sheets. They had kissed for what seemed like hours, slow and languorous, legs entwined, hands exploring over bare skin. At some point, they had drifted off to sleep. 

Merlin was already awake, studying Arthur’s face.

“Are you freaking out?” he asked cautiously.

Arthur gave the question some thought. The answer was simple. “No.”

He felt at peace, content, excited, nervous. But not nervous about what they’d done—that had all been brilliant and he hoped they be doing much, much more. No, he was nervous about the strength of his feelings, whether they’d be reciprocated. His earlier epiphany had him realising that what he felt for Merlin had been growing for quite some time. He just hadn’t recognized what was happening.

The furrow between Merlin’s brow didn’t ease. He still seemed uncertain, perhaps a little troubled. “Are you going to freak out?” he asked after a lengthy silence.

Arthur’s lips quirked. “I don’t believe so, no. In fact, I’m hoping if I play my cards right, this isn’t going to turn out to be a one-off.” When Merlin didn’t respond, just continued to stare with those serious eyes, the smile slipped from Arthur’s lips. His stomach clenched with anxiety. Maybe he was going to freak out. “Oh god. This was a one-off,” he murmured under his breath. He scrambled upright, trying to make out the location of his clothes in the dim light, feeling an urgent need to flee.

“What? No.” Merlin scrambled up too. He tried to grab Arthur’s arm, but he pulled away and wouldn’t look Merlin in the eye. “You said you weren’t going to freak out,” he almost shouted.

“Yes, well,” Arthur said and he struggled to pull on his trousers, “you seem dead set on it, so I thought I had better give you the satisfaction.”

“Of course I thought you’d freak out. I just got off with my best mate’s very straight ex-boyfriend."

Arthur paused at that. “Oh, come now, Merlin. I hardly think I can be called straight after last night. Besides, Gwaine and I exchanged hand jobs once in boarding school. That should at least have shifted me slightly up the Kinsey scale.”

“Fucking Gwaine,” Merlin said with such vehemence that Arthur couldn’t hold back his burst of laughter.

Merlin took advantage of the mood shift to grab Arthur’s hand and holding firm, pulled him back over to the bed. He gave Arthur’s shoulders a shove and he sat down hard, bare-chested, shirt clutched in his fist. “Now please shut the fuck up and listen to me,” said Merlin. Arthur surprisingly obeyed and Merlin continued. “It wasn’t a one-off.”

“What if I want it to be a one-off now?”

“You are so bloody aggravating,” Merlin said through clenched teeth. Then he became aware of Arthur’s barely suppressed laughter. Shaking his head, he gave a fond roll of his eyes. Then he gave Arthur’s shoulders another shove so that he fell backwards on the bed. Once Arthur scooted up the mattress so his head was on the pillow, Merlin crawled over him, straddling his thighs and settling on his groin. “Now get those sodding trousers off again,” he demanded, rocking his hips and grinding down on Arthur’s cock.


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

_"There are shadows because there are hills.”_  
_E.M. Forster, A Room with a View_

* * *

  
[ _Rome, Italy – current day_ ]

“Arthur,” Alfredo Alffatato greeted with a firm handshake.  He was an older gentleman, well-dressed, with a white mustache and cropped beard. His index finger was adorned with a gold ring set with a large blue stone. “It’s good to see you. I’m sure you don’t remember, but I met you when you were a little boy, no bigger than…” he held out his hand parallel to the ground, indicating what must have been Arthur’s height at the time.

“So my father tells me,” said Arthur with a smile. “I’m sorry Sofia’s not here to meet you. We had a bit of a scheduling hiccup and this was the only time one of the transportation officials had available.”

“Not to worry. Not to worry. I spoke to my daughter earlier today and she promised to be free for dinner. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

“That’s very kind, but I’ll let two of you catch up this evening. I know she’s missed you and would probably appreciate a little one-on-one time. But we’re still on for Saturday, I hope.”  Arthur had procured tickets to the opera on Saturday. Uther had suggested the outing prior to Alfredo’s arrival in Rome, knowing he was a huge opera buff, stressing the importance of keeping him entertained. Alfredo was a part of the Italian investment group Uther had on board for the hotel and Arthur was to keep him happy.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Alfredo.

“Splendid,” said Arthur. “Now if you’re ready?”

“I’m ready. Show me this Centre and your hotel.”

Arthur played tour guide for the visiting investor for the remainder of the afternoon. The Convention Centre was huge. Designed by Studio Fuksas, it was comprised of several different architectural concepts. The basement housed the exhibition centre with a capacity of up to 6,000. The “Theca” and “Cloud” were the most visually stunning features of the entire complex, with the Theca being the metal and glass exterior and the Cloud an amorphous fiberglass structure containing multi-level walkways and an auditorium, so named because it appeared to be suspended inside the cage-like outer construction. And then there was the Blade, the 17-story hotel still awaiting occupation.

They spent the majority of the visit at the hotel, discussing plans for the Blade if they decided to move forward, how much construction remained, what specialty shops they hoped to move in, the importance of the planned restaurant, as well as various problems, like the lack of taxis and bus stops in the area.

“You’ve got your work cut out for you, I see,” said Alfredo. “But I’ve no doubt you and Sofia are up to the task.”

“Thank you, Sir. We’ll certainly do our best.”

“Alfredo, please.”

Arthur nodded in acknowledgment.

Saturday arrived too quickly. After losing almost a full day of work to accompany Alfredo through the project, Arthur had had to make up lost time, working into the evenings. He barely got home before he needed to shower and change for the opera. His phone rang while he was tightening the knot on his tie. He looked at the name on the caller ID and briefly contemplated letting it go to voicemail, but instead took a deep breath and answered.

“Hello, Father.”

“Ah, good, I caught you.”

“Yes, I was just on my way out. The car’s probably downstairs now.”

“Then I won’t keep you. I wanted to check in to see how everything was going.”

“Everything’s fine. Alfredo is being well taken care of.”

“Good. I knew I could count on you. Please give him my regards and enjoy your evening.”

“I will. Thank you, Father. I’ll call you next week.”

“And say hello to Sofia for me as well.”

“All right. Now I’ve got to go. Good bye.”

“Good bye.”

Arthur checked the time and quickly finished dressing, picking up the gold and onyx cufflinks from the top of his dresser. He rolled them in his palm for a moment then impulsively put them down, opening up the top drawer and pulling out a small black box. He snapped the lid open and stared.  They were just as he remembered, a pair of square white stones, surrounded by delicate decorative silver. He hadn’t worn them since…. Shaking his head to clear it—not the time to dwell on that—Arthur quickly fastened them to his cuffs. Then he grabbed his suit jacket and was out the door.

Even after living in Italy for several months now, Arthur had yet to adjust to the Italian habit of dining late. They’d opted to have cocktails and a light supper before the show, but restaurant options were limited, as most of the better establishments didn’t even open until 7:30 p.m. and the ones that did were likely to be overrun with tourists. Alfredo suggested meeting at the St. Regis where he was staying and having a bite there before heading to the theatre.

Sofia had already arrived. Arthur had offered to have the car pick her up on the way, but she’d gone earlier in order to spend a little more time with her father while he was in Rome. She kissed him on the cheeks in greeting.

“You look lovely,” Arthur said. She was wearing a stunning dress with a white draped silk top and a black skirt, slit up the thigh, with gold strappy heels. Her strawberry blonde hair was soft around her face, and her lips were a deep crimson. A gold chunky necklace completed the outfit.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she said with an appreciative smile, giving his dark tailored suit an approving nod.

“Arthur,” Alfredo said, shaking his hand. “I hope the traffic wasn’t too bad.”

“Good do see you again, Sir,” said Arthur. “And no more than usual.”

“I told you. Call me Alfredo.”

“Alfredo,” Arthur repeated to the other man’s satisfaction.

Once they were settled with their drinks, Arthur took a good look around the St. Regis, mentally taking notes. The luxury hotel was under the Marriott brand and had just undergone an expensive renovation. The neutral décor was accented with black and gold, exuding a blend of old-world opulence and modern styling. Marble floors, arched doorways, intricate moldings, original frescoes, and crystal chandeliers contributed to the effect of extraordinary glamour and elegance.

“Arthur,” Sofia laughed, “surely you can take one night off of work.”

“Sorry?” he asked, bringing his attention back to his companions.

“I can practically hear you thinking from here,” said Sofia. “I imagine you’ve already got a comprehensive list of comparisons between the Regis and the Blade in your head—price point, service, décor, menu, amenities.”

Caught out, Arthur replied with a smile, “And you don’t?”

“Touché,” Sofia said. “But I think the postmortem can wait until Monday, can’t it?”

“Of course,” Arthur agreed, saved from saying anything else at the moment by the arrival of their food.

To Arthur’s amusement, much of the dinner conversation centred around work anyway, Sofia seemingly unable to stop analyzing their surroundings any more than he could. They discussed what would work at the Blade, what wouldn’t. Obviously, they’d be catering to a completely different set of clientele than a luxury brand like the St. Regis, but they could strive to emulate certain features, like the incomparable level of service. Alfredo seemed unbothered by all the work talk and offered what advice he could. In a way, the evening reminded Arthur of dinners at home with Uther.

After their plates were cleared and they relaxed with drinks, Arthur’s attention was arrested by the music being piped into the room. Earlier impulse with the cufflinks aside, he had deliberately pushed all thought of Puccini and opera from his mind, knowing he’d be bombarded with memories later. And now, the strains of “Nessun Dorma” filled the air.

“Ah, Pavarotti,” Alfredo commented. “What fitting accompaniment for the evening. Have you been to the Teatro dell'Opera di Roma before?” he asked Arthur.

“No,” Arthur said. “But I was lucky enough to see _Turandot_ at La Scala.” He felt as if the words were being torn from his mouth.

“That must have been an amazing experience. Well, you’ll get to enjoy another of Italy’s great opera houses tonight, then.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said, throat suddenly tight.

“I think this performance is from _The Three Tenors_ ,” Alfredo said after listening another moment. “Did you know they originally recorded it in the Teatro?”

“No, I wasn’t aware of that.”

“Of course, the programme’s become tremendously commercialized and a tourism bonanza, but one can hardly complain about Italy’s operatic geniuses being appreciated by the masses.”

“I suppose not.”

Alfredo was momentarily distracted by what Arthur assumed was a vibrating phone. He fished his mobile out of his pocket and looked at the screen. “Please excuse me for a moment. I really need to take this.” He got up from the table and walked to a more private area.

“Are you all right?” Sofia asked. She placed a hand on his arm.

Arthur had almost forgotten she was there. “What? Yes, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? For a minute there you looked—I don’t know—as if you might be sick.”

“I’m fine. A little tired, maybe. I haven’t been getting enough sleep.” He composed himself and put on a reassuring smile. This wouldn’t do at all. He didn’t need to fall apart at the sound of one simple aria. He still had a whole opera to get through, after all.

“You work too hard,” Sofia said, then laughed at his quizzical head tilt. “Fine, fine,” she said, tossing her napkin on the table. “I’m one to talk. I know.”

Just then Alfredo returned to the table, agitated and apologetic. “I’m terribly sorry, but something’s come up with work that needs my direct attention. I’m going to have to bow out this evening.”

“Oh, no,” Sophia exclaimed with dismay. “Papà, you can’t miss it.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to. I hate to cancel on you, but I want you two to enjoy yourselves.”

“Are you sure you can’t make it?” asked Arthur.

“I need to handle this myself, unfortunately. There’s no one else. Again, I’m very sorry.”

Arthur stood up, recognizing the futility of changing his mind. He fished the tickets from his breast pocket and handed one to Alfredo. “At least take this. If you can get away, maybe you can join us later.”

Alfredo look at the ticket, nodding. “I’ll do my best. But I’m not optimistic. Now you two had better get going. I’ve charged the meal to my room. It’s the least I can do after such an inconvenience.”

“No, please let me take care of it,” protested Arthur. “We’re supposed to be entertaining you, not the other way around. Father would never let me hear the end of it.”

“I absolutely insist,” said Alfredo. “If Uther has something to say about it, you send him to me.”

“Arthur, let Papà,” Sofia said, readying to rise from her seat. Arthur hurried to her side to pull out her chair. “He’s right. It’s the least he can do.”

“See?” said Alfredo. “It’s all decided. Now give me a kiss, Tesoro. You don’t want to be late.”

The Teatro dell'Opera di Roma was unappealing from the outside, Arthur thought, its façade more of the fascist architecture that was so prevalent in the EUR, but the inside was beautiful. Shaped in a large horse shoe to optimize acoustics, the theatre’s rows and rows of red and gold boxes and the domed ceiling gave an air of classic elegance.

Settled with their programme in a centre box, Arthur and Sofia chatted until the lights dimmed. When the aggressive opening notes of Puccini’s _Tosca_ carried through the space, Arthur shut his eye and braced himself against the onslaught.

At the first intermission, Sofia excused herself to visit the ladies room, letting Arthur know she’d try to reach Alfredo. When she returned, she wore a slight frown on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked.

“Papà was behaving oddly. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there was no emergency at all.”

“Then it turned out to be nothing? Is he able to join us?”

“No,” she replied, still frowning. Then her face showed dawning understanding. She shook her head, muttering to herself, “That man.”

“Care to share?” Arthur asked.

She looked chagrined. “I suspect he’s doing a little matchmaking.”

“Oh,” Arthur said dumbly. They had no more time to talk before the second act started.

As Arthur only half paid attention to the music on the stage, he thought back to the uncharacteristic call from Uther earlier and knew Sofia was right. Already the evening had been draining—Puccini, “Nessun Dorma,” the private box in an opulent opera house. He fiddled absently with one of the cufflinks on his wrists. Suddenly exhausted, he dreaded having to confront this new layer of complication and felt a pulse of anger towards Uther for his machinations. The discordant sounds of _Tosca_ , almost Wagnerian in its style, echoed his chaotic mood. The act culminated in Tosca brutally stabbing the unscrupulous Scarpia and the climactic music followed by the funereal rendition of the dying man’s motif left Arthur agitated and unsettled as the lights came up.

Tempted to take the coward’s route and excuse himself to the gents, Arthur nevertheless turned to Sofia.

“So we should probably talk about our fathers’ scheming, I suppose. I’m sure Uther played a role in this.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sofia asked.

He sighed, looking away. “No, not really,” he said after a pause. He turned back to Sofia and softened the response with a smile.

Seeming to accept his answer, she nodded thoughtfully and said, “Then let’s enjoy the rest of the show, shall we?”

“A fine plan.”

Yet as the third act commenced, Arthur’s mood failed to improve. He only wanted the evening to be over. Tosca unwittingly leading her lover to his death and her subsequent suicide by throwing herself off a parapet did little to help. At least the third act had been short.

Arthur was quiet as the car drove them home and Sofia appeared content with the silence. When they reached her house and the driver opened her door to let her out, however, she asked, “Can you give us a few minutes, please?” He nodded and closed the door, standing outside.

Arthur looked at her inquisitively.

“I’ve been giving the situation some thought,” she said.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I think they meant well. And it’s not a terrible idea, is it?”

He’d prefer this to be rhetorical, but Sofia seemed to be waiting for an answer. “No, it’s not terrible.”

“I mean,” she went on, taking this as encouragement, “we’re both single. We come from similar backgrounds. We get along. And we make a great team at the office. This is the kind of project that has excellent long-term prospects.”

Morgana’s warning outside her car after that dinner with Uther months ago seemed absolutely prophetic now.

Sofia scooted closer, placing her hand on Arthur’s thigh. “And you’re very attractive.” She leaned in even closer, taking her other hand and placing it on the back of Arthur’s neck, pulling him to her face. Her lips were soft and warm on his and he felt her breast press against his arm. She deepened the kiss, slipping her tongue into his mouth, and then tightened the hand on his thigh and slid it closer to his groin. He responded almost instinctively, kissing her back. But as their mouths moved together, his brain was cataloguing every sensation. The taste was wrong. Her scent was wrong. She was too slight, too soft, the hand on his thigh too small. Before he could even react to his thoughts, she was pulling away and smiling seductively at him.

“Would you like to come up for a drink?”

He cleared his throat. “I don’t think I had better.”

That may have been a flash of disappointment, but the look flitted too quickly over her features for him to be sure. “Another time, maybe.” When he didn’t give any response, affirmative or negative, she added, “Will you promise to at least think about what I’ve said? I think we could be really good together.”

“Yes, I’ll think about it,” he agreed.

She smiled then, leaning in to give him one last chaste kiss on his lips, then rapped on the car window, indicating she was ready. The driver opened her door and she exited the vehicle, ducking her head down to say, “Goodnight. I had a nice evening,” before she was gone.

“Goodnight,” said Arthur. After the driver had pulled away and they were headed back to his apartment, Arthur leaned his head back and shut his eyes, rubbing his hands tiredly over his face.

Later, after he’d hung up his suit, nestled his cufflinks back in their small black box, and crawled into bed, he scrolled through the music on his phone. Yes, it was still there. He stared at the recording of _Turandot_. Just for tonight, he told himself.  
  
He did his best, most days, to put Merlin from his mind—what was the point, after all?—but tonight it had been impossible. What could it hurt to remember the good times? But he already knew the answer to that, knew he’d be reopening an unhealed wound, knew he was only torturing himself. He put in his ear buds and cued up the first track anyway, listening as _Turandot_ ’s “Overture” began to play.


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

_"Mistrust all enterprises that require new clothes.”_  
_E.M. Forster, A Room with a View_

* * *

   
[ _Milan, Italy – 2 years prior_ ]

Merlin held one of the ear buds out to Arthur and put the other in his own ear. “Here,” he said. “Listen.” They were sat in business class, finally on their way to Italy after months of separation. Merlin had hardly stopped chatting for a single moment, talking about everything from working back in Wales with his Uncle Gaius, the man who was paying for his Cambridge education, to the plot of the opera they were going to be seeing, insisting they needed to study up beforehand to better appreciate it. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, after all. Well, not if Arthur had his way, it wouldn’t be. But he kept that thought to himself, content to listen and smile, holding one of Merlin’s hands tightly in his own.

“This is ‘Signore, ascolta!’ sung by Liu, the servant girl, who is secretly in love with Prince Calaf. I’m not sure why, really. He’s kind of a knob,” Merlin explained. “Though apparently, he once smiled at her many years ago.”

“Well,” Arthur said, “sometimes that’s all one wants in life is to have a pretty boy smile at them.” Arthur intended his tone to be light and joking, but even he was surprised at how sincere he sounded.

Merlin, startled into silence, immediately rewarded Arthur with an upturn of his lips, sweet and soft. Arthur had to kiss him.

“Now tell me more about this serving girl,” Arthur prompted a few moments later.

“She’s trying to stop Prince Calaf from attempting to answer the three riddles challenge in order to marry Princess Turandot. If he fails, she’ll have him killed.”

“That’s a bit harsh,” said Arthur.

“Oh, she's absolutely bloodthirsty,” agreed Merlin.

They listened to a few more songs on the flight to Milan, Arthur enjoying every bit of Merlin’s enthusiasm. God, he had missed him. He couldn’t wait to get to the hotel.

Just hours later, they were both naked on the bed, Arthur panting heavily, Merlin’s breathless moans in his ear. It was almost if they had never been parted, familiar fire racing through his veins the moment they had begun to kiss. Soon they were frantically removing clothing, hungry to taste and to touch, desperate for the feel of skin on skin.

“Missed you,” Arthur had said against Merlin’s kiss-swollen lips. “Missed you so fucking much. Can’t wait to be inside you.”

“Yeah,” Merlin panted. “Yeah, want that too. Come on,” he said, spreading his legs arching towards Arthur’s cock. “Go on,” he urged. “Fuck me.”

“Let me,” Arthur started, getting his fingers slick and reaching between his legs. But Merlin shook his head no.

“Just…” Merlin took the lube from Arthur and slicked his length generously. Arthur moaned at the touch of Merlin’s hand on his cock, hips twitching involuntarily. “Come on,” Merlin pleaded, sounding breathy and needy. “Fuck me. Do it now. Please.”

And Arthur had pressed against his entrance, arms tight around him, pushing in excruciatingly slow, gasping as Merlin’s body stretched to take him in. When he was as deep as he could get, he stilled, reveling in the heat of Merlin surrounding him. He stared down at Merlin’s face, so beloved and dear, the flush on his cheeks, the deep blue of his eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, concerned he hadn’t taken enough time for Merlin to be ready.

“Yeah,” Merlin said, breathless, his fingers flexing on Arthur’s shoulders. “You feel really good.”

“Love you,” Arthur whispered, almost choking on the strength of his emotions.

He watched as Merlin’s pupils seemed to grow even larger, felt the shift of Merlin’s hips where they were joined together.

“Maybe you could love me and fuck me at the same time,” Merlin suggested, moving his hips again, even more impatiently this time.

“You’re such a little shit,” Arthur said, huffing out a laugh. And then Merlin was grinning up at him. “But yeah, I can do that,” he said, and he kissed Merlin’s smiling mouth, rocking his hips in another slow thrust. And then neither of them was laughing as they moved together in an ageless rhythm, gasping and trembling.

It had always been like this with Merlin, heady and overwhelming and bone-meltingly good. He’d worried things would be different between them, with the long separation after living together at uni. Merlin had been in his third year and Arthur, after a hard-fought battle with Uther, stayed on another year in Cambridge’s highly-competitive and prestigious Management programme at the Judge Business School. Taking far less convincing than Arthur had thought he’d require, Merlin had foregone university accommodations and had moved into Arthur’s terraced house on Little Saint Mary Lane. Both incredibly busy with schoolwork, they still carved out quiet mornings and lazy weekends together. But best of all was being able to curl up against Merlin each night.

They’d talked a lot about what would happen after university, how they could make it work. Merlin would be taking a year off before starting his post-grad studies. He hoped to do some traveling, visiting some of the locations of Forster’s novels, particularly Italy. In the meantime, he’d be working with his Uncle Gaius to save a little money.

Arthur would be going to London to finally work full-time at Pendragon Holdings. He’d worked between terms for years—his father had been grooming him for the business practically since birth—but Uther had been eager to have him at home for good.

“If I can convince Father to let me take a few months off, maybe we could travel together,” he said, watching as Merlin’s face lit up.

“That would be brilliant.”

And seeing the happiness in Merlin’s eyes, Arthur resolved then and there he’d make it happen. As he’d privately feared, Uther was adamantly against the plan.

“You already took another full year at university. You know you would have gotten just as good an education by spending that time at Pendragon Holdings. I hardly think your university professors could compare to hands-on experience at one of the most successful international companies in the world.”

“I found it incredibly useful,” Arthur retorted. “And you agreed the prestige of the programme was worth having me attend.”

“Yes, but now you want to take even more time away from work. The company needs you, Arthur.”

The company had thrived fine up until this point without him, but Arthur knew that argument would be less than persuasive. And he did want to work at Pendragon Holdings. That had never not been in his plans; he just wanted time with Merlin more right now.

It had taken weeks to wear Uther down. Arthur had called in Morgana for reinforcements. And only once they had convinced Uther of the importance of Arthur perfecting his Italian—there’s no substitute for total immersion—and Uther had extracted promises from Arthur to make appearances at the various Italian offices did he agree.

Arthur took one last look in the mirror, smoothing his hair and adjusting his tie. He walked over to the bed where Merlin was still sleeping, pausing to stare at his beautiful boy. The sheet was down around his hips, the swell of his buttocks just visible. Light scratch marks marred the pale skin of his back and shoulders and bruises were beginning to show at his neck. Arthur wanted nothing more than to slip right back into bed, run his fingers through those dark curls and kiss those pink plush lips. Instead he gave Merlin’s shoulder a gentle shake, smiling as he heard him grumble.

“Go ‘way.”

“I’m heading out now,” Arthur said.

Merlin’s dark lashes fluttered open. “Hm?”

“Didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.” He couldn’t resist reaching out to lightly stroke Merlin’s sleep-rumpled face, running a finger across the blanket crease on his cheek.

Merlin clumsily batted his hand away. “Tickles.”

“All right. I have to go. I left the directions on the desk for later. Meet me there, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.” He was slightly more awake now, propped up on one elbow. “You look nice.”

Arthur smiled. “Thanks. So do you. You look incredible, in fact. Good enough to eat.”

“You think so?” Merlin smirked, turning over onto his back so Arthur could see his morning erection.

“God, you’re killing me,” Arthur said with a groan. He leaned down and gave Merlin a thorough snog, smiling when he tried to pull back, but was prevented by Merlin’s arm wrapped around the back of his neck.

“Call and tell them something came up. They don’t need to know it’s my dick.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, laughing, “You know I can’t.” But he kissed him again. Reluctantly, he pulled away, gently tucking Merlin’s arm back by his side. “Why don’t you try to go back to sleep?”

“Yeah, maybe I will. After I take care of this,” he added, gripping his cock through the sheet. “It’s too bad you can’t stay.”

Arthur eyes were drawn to his hand and he hesitated, torn between wanting to undress and climb back into bed and knowing he had waiting obligations. He gave a frustrated groan and leaned in for one last hard kiss before tearing himself away. “You’re a cruel man,” he said as Merlin’s laughter followed him out the door.

Hours later, his meetings at the Milan office finally done, Arthur took a cab to the tailor where he was meeting Merlin. With luck, he wouldn’t have to deal with business again until Florence.

“I told you I don’t need a new suit,” Merlin said once they were inside.

“It’s not about needing one,” Arthur answered. “You’re in the fashion capital of the world. You should take advantage. Besides, you said you’d allow me to spoil you for our night out at La Scala.”

“Yes, but I meant the tickets. And you already upgraded my flight. And then there’s the hotel.”

“The hotel’s a business expense. So that doesn’t count.”

“It sort of counts.”

“Doesn’t count,” Arthur insisted. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be enjoying some of the finer venues this country has to offer? Wasn’t the entire idea to get a first-hand feel of places your Forster’s upper-class English tourists visited? You certainly can’t get that from staying in a bunch of grotty hostels the entire way through Italy.”

“You promised we’d have our fair share of grotty hostels, remember?”

“Yes, yes. I’m perfectly amenable to slumming it, as I’ve already said. You’ll have your grotty hostels, don’t you worry about that. Trains, backpacks, and grotty hostels—I am 100% on board. But first, the opera. And some new clothes.”

“Fine,” Merlin capitulated.

“At least I’m not forcing you into bespoke. Not that I wouldn’t, mind you. We just don’t have the time.”

The next hour or so was spent with measurements and the selection of fabrics, details, collars, and cuffs.

“It’s not just the suit jacket and trousers that are important, Merlin,” Arthur commented. “You need a properly fitted dress shirt. I think Italian for the collar. Or maybe Semi Italian, show off that long gorgeous neck. What do you think? French cuffs, of course.”

“I didn’t bring any cufflinks.”

“You can borrow some of mine. Or better yet, let me buy you a pair.”

“No, you are not buying me jewelry.”

“Quit arguing, Merlin. You’ve already agreed. Now let’s look at the ties. Although you could get away with just a jacket—very fashion forward.” He eyed Merlin’s neck appreciatively and reached out his hand to press his finger against a newly-formed bruise below his jaw. “Show off my handiwork, as well.”  Merlin pushed his hand away and rolled his eyes.

“I’m wearing a tie.”

“We should get you one, in any case. You can decide later.”

“I’ve already decided.”

“You might change your mind.”

 “I won’t change my mind. They have a dress code, Arthur.”

“Details, details.”

After more shopping—“Italian leather, Merlin, you have to have new shoes”—and a bite to eat, they passed a jeweler.

“Perfect,” said Arthur. “One last stop. Unless you want a hat.”

“Oh my god. No more,” Merlin whined. “Let’s just go back to the hotel. I’m tired. Someone kept me up all night.”

“Are you seriously complaining?”

“Well, no, not really. Not about that. But you’ve bought me enough. I’ll just borrow a pair of your cufflinks. I’ve got some at home. I don’t need new.”

“What if I want to buy you new?”

“Arthur—”

“How about this. You see that café over there?” He pointed down the street. “Why don’t you get a caffè and wait for me there. I’ll surprise you. Come on. Let me do this.” He stuck his bottom lip out in a pout.

Merlin hesitated. He knew how difficult it was to get Arthur to change his mind once he was set on something. “Don’t be extravagant.”

Arthur smiled, knowing he had won. “Diamond cufflinks it is,” he said.

“Arthur, I’m serious.”

Arthur shut up his protestations with a kiss. “Now go on. I’m only joking about the diamonds. I’ll pick something modest but tasteful, ones you won’t have to worry about bringing into a grotty hostel. Sapphires, maybe, to match your pretty blue eyes.”

Now Merlin knew he was taking the piss. “You’re impossible.”

Not too much later, Arthur was sat at the table, ordering his own caffè before retrieving a small black box from the bag at his feet and sliding it across the table. He watched Merlin’s face as he opened the lid and was gratified to see the small smile curving his lips. The bullet back cufflinks were silver with a square blue stone on the face, surrounded by delicate decorative metalwork. _Made In Italy_ was engraved on the post.

“The stone is called Milano blu,” said Arthur. “And I promise they weren’t too expensive.” He left out the part where they were described as wedding cufflinks. All in due time.

“They’re perfect,” Merlin said, standing to lean over the table and give Arthur a kiss. “Thank you.”

When he sat back down, Arthur pulled another box out of the bag. “I got some for myself as well, but white, with mother of pearl instead of the blue. We can match. We’ll be just like those groups of American tourists with their horrid neon tee shirts and bright white trainers.”

“Just like that,” Merlin agreed. He shook his head, smiling to himself. After a minute of sitting quietly staring at his gift he said, “You’re terribly sentimental sometimes.”

“Yes, well,” Arthur said, slightly flustered, “please don’t tell anyone. I have a certain reputation to uphold.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

Over the next few days, they explored the city, visiting many of the popular tourist spots, such as the Piazza del Duomo and the Duomo Cathedral, as well as the Leonardo da Vinci Museum. In the evening, they visited the Bohemian Brera district, walking the cobbled streets and enjoying the many restaurants and bars. They took an afternoon to visit the Naviglio Grande, one of Milan’s two canals, strolling along the waterway. In the evening, they ate a delicious seafood meal with a bottle of wine and then after, stayed till late, drinking cocktails and enjoying the robust nightlife and live music. And each night, they fell into bed, kissing and touching and drowning in exquisite passion.

“Let me help you with that,” said Arthur, taking the cufflink from Merlin’s hand and fastening it for him, adjusting his sleeve, before picking up the other one.

“Thanks.”

“Tie or no tie?”

Merlin narrowed his eyes at Arthur. “Tie.”

Arthur sighed. “Fine. I’ll just have to take it off you later.” He looped the fabric around Merlin’s neck and knotted it in place before helping him with his jacket. Then he stood back and looked at Merlin in his dark blue suit and crisp white shirt, new cufflinks peeking out at his wrists. “You look gorgeous.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Merlin said, admiring Arthur’s shining blond hair and classic charcoal suit.

“Shall we?” Arthur asked, offering Merlin his arm.

La Scala was spectacular. Six tiers of gold boxes draped in lush red velvet gave an air of unparalleled opulence. After enjoying a glass of wine at the bar, Arthur bought Merlin a keepsake house programme and they got settled in their box. Many of the boxes were at an angle, but theirs had an excellent view of the stage. Each contained four to six seats, but only the front two had acceptable views. Arthur, unbeknownst to Merlin, had purchased all the available seats in theirs so they wouldn’t have strangers trying to peer over their shoulders throughout the performance.

“Have I said thank you yet?” Merlin asked Arthur. He was beaming, his excitement palpable.

“Yes, but it’s nice to hear it again.”

Merlin leaned in and kissed him, tongue briefly slipping into Arthur’s mouth. “Thank you,” he whispered against Arthur’s lips.

“Mmm,” said Arthur. “I’m glad I only had one glass of wine. I’m going to snog you through the entire intermission.”

“If you insist.”

La Scala had been Arthur’s idea. When they were planning their trip and deciding where to go and what to see, Merlin had wistfully mentioned the opera. “There’s that scene in _Where Angels Fear to Tread_. Do you remember?”

“Where Lestrade climbs the curtains in the opera house to give Helen Mirrin’s baby daddy a bouquet of flowers?”

Merlin laughed. “Close enough. And then all that Puccini in _A Room with a View_. Now whenever I think of Italy, I think of Puccini. Merchant-Ivory have ruined me.”

“Then if we’re going to the opera, we should go to La Scala,” Arthur proclaimed. “That will make Father happy, at least. He wants me to stop by the Milan offices to meet the higher-ups. I know Milan isn’t on your Forster agenda, but this would be ideal.”

“I can’t afford tickets to La Scala,” Merlin said. “Unless we did the standby day-of sales. That might work.”

“Nonsense,” Arthur said. “It will be my treat. It can be your graduation present, a night at the opera.”

“You agreed we’d be travelling within my budget, not yours.”

“Come on, now. You’re not going to allow me to splurge a little on my boyfriend?”

“I know how you are. What’s that old saying? Give him an inch…”

“But La Scala, Merlin. If we’re going to do it, we should do it right.”

And Arthur, in his typical way, was relentless until Merlin finally agreed. Looking at his shining eyes, Arthur had to conclude Merlin was perfectly fine with this decision.

After the performance and the many ovations they went to the adjoining restaurant for a late meal and a bottle of wine.

“That was really wonderful,” Merlin said with a satisfied sigh. “Gwen would have liked it.”

“Yes, most definitely. We’ll send her a postcard.”

“I can’t really decide if that was a happy ending.”

“The Prince kept his head and won the girl, so I suppose it’s intended to be happy,” said Arthur.

“Yes, but they were both pretty terrible people. I’m not sure I buy the supposed humanizing process of either. The only sympathetic one was Liu and she ended up tortured and then dead from a self-inflicted knife to the gut.”

“That’s true.”

“Did you know Puccini never finished this one?”

“Really? It seemed to wrap up okay.”

“Yeah. It’s been performed with two different endings by two different composers. And also in the original, right where Puccini left off. The first ending was scrapped, in part because their supposed character growth was too abrupt. It didn’t make a lot of sense. We got the newer ending by Berio. I think that’s why it’s a little more ambiguous.”

“I tried to find a performance of _Gianni Schicchi_ ,” Arthur said, referencing the comic opera whose famous aria “O mio babbino caro” was used in _A Room with a View_. “But this is what La Scala had to offer.”

“It’s been a perfect evening. You’re the best boyfriend ever.” He gave Arthur a cheeky smile, but his eyes shone with fondness.

“Don’t you worry,” Arthur said with an exaggerated leer. “I’ll make sure you get your happy ending.”

Merlin’s snort of laughter in response to Arthur’s ridiculousness was music more beautiful than all the opera in the world.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

_"I only wish poets would say this, too: love is of the body; not the body, but of the body."  
E.M Forster, A Room with a View_

* * *

   
[ _Rome, Italy – current day]_

Sunday, Arthur didn’t get out of bed till almost noon. He rarely indulged in self-pity, but he’d cracked open that door and now he was afraid he wouldn’t get it shut again. Eventually, he forced himself up, pulled on some track pants, then made some toast and tea. A dull headache throbbed behind his eyes. He attributed it to his restless night and morning lie in.

Maybe some fresh air would help. He climbed the stairs to the terrace and stood, elbows against the concrete and glass ledge, staring out over the city. Not for the first time since coming to work in Rome he wished he’d foregone the convenience of living so close to the Convention Centre and chosen instead Monti or Trastevere.

Spread before him were the grid-like streets of the EUR, all harsh lines and right angles. To the right, the Colosseo Quadrato towered above the surrounding landscape standing stark against the sky. Originally conceived by Mussolini to showcase fascism to the world during the 1942 world exposition, the district felt soulless to Arthur, devoid of the rich history in other parts of the city. The rectangular monument, with its dozens of loggias, dark like rows of empty eyes, was an uneasy presence, seeming to exemplify the austerity of the EUR. Even the Basilica del Santi Pietro e Paolo, with its rounded dome, sat atop a large stone cube.

Arthur wished he could dredge up more enthusiasm for the district. Although he enjoyed the Parco Centrale del Lago and its Laghetto dell'Eur, the Rationalist architecture lacked the beauty he associated with the eternal city. The rising popularity of the EUR with its thriving businesses and trendy restaurants left the Blade ideally positioned to capitalize on the area’s revitalization and rebirth, yet the neighborhood still left Arthur cold.

Sighing, Arthur acknowledged his search for fresh air was doing nothing to ease his headache or mood. Maybe he should head across the river, surround himself with beauty. But after the outing yesterday, with all its emotional turmoil, he wasn’t sure he had the energy to leave his apartment.

Discarding that idea, he went back inside, rejecting the impulse to hole himself away in his office and bury himself in work. He puttered aimlessly, scrolling through his phone, brewing another cup of tea. The afternoon stretched endlessly before him.

The weekend was a complete failure already. He’d started down the road; why not embrace the path wholeheartedly? His thoughts turned to the book he’d seen last night, tucked away in the same drawer the cufflinks were kept. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to open it in months, but he hadn’t been able to leave it in London either. Coming to a decision, he went into the bedroom and pulled out the copy of E.M. Forster’s _Maurice_. He settled into a leather chair, running his fingers over the cover. Then he opened the book and stared at the inscription. _To Arthur, Because a happy ending for M &A was always an imperative. Yours, Merlin_

-o-

[ _Cambridge University, England – 4 years prior_ ]

“I want to make you feel good,” Arthur murmured against Merlin’s neck where he’d been placing slow wet kisses, punctuated by scrapes of teeth. His hands under Merlin’s tee shirt were spread wide against his sides, sliding up, thumbs moving across his nipples, over and over, stroking them until they were hard and sensitive. Merlin was arching against him, making small gasping noises, the hot line of his cock pressing into Arthur’s thigh. They were in Arthur’s kitchen after a night at the pub, their first night out as a couple amongst their friends.

Merlin had been nervous, restless and jittery. His leg bounced under the table. Arthur reached out and placed a hand on his thigh.

He leaned over and spoke softly in Merlin’s ear. “What’s wrong? Do you not want to tell them?”

Panic flashed across Merlin’s face. “You don’t want to tell them?” he asked.

“What? No. I mean yes.” He shook his head slightly in frustration. “Of course I want to tell them.”

“Are you sure?” He looked a little peakèd.

“Yes, I’m sure. Merlin, what in the world is wrong with you?”

Merlin gave a quiet uncertain laugh. “God, I don’t really know. It’s stupid. I think I keep expecting you to change your mind.”

Arthur’s expression became unbearably fond. “It is stupid, completely daft. I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Oi, what are you two whispering about over there?” asked Gwaine. He balled up a napkin and tossed it at the side of Arthur’s head.

Arthur ignored him, lifting a hand to Merlin’s chin and tilting his face so he could cover his mouth with his own. The kiss was slow and sweet and he felt the tension in Merlin’s body seep away as he melted against Arthur, hands coming up to grip the front of Arthur’s shirt, tongue slipping between his lips to deepen the kiss.

Whoops and cheers erupted around them. Arthur felt Merlin’s smile against his lips. When they separated, Merlin’s cheeks were pink with embarrassment, but he couldn’t keep the giddy smile off his face.

“About time,” said Gwaine, lifting his pint in salute.

“Please tell me we’ll be spared from all that unbearable sexual tension now,” Leon chimed in.

“And the flirting,” said Mithian. “Dear god, the flirting.”

There was a rousing chorus of agreement.

Arthur looked over at Gwen and her hands were clasped against her chest, her head tilted, wearing an expression as if she were watching kittens and puppies being far too adorable for words.

“Are you crying?” Mithian asked Gwen, staring at the suspicious wetness in her eyes. “You are such a ridiculous softie,” she said, laughing at her friend, but handing her a napkin, nonetheless.

Gwen dabbed her eyes, laughing at herself. “I can’t help it,” she said. “I’m just so happy for them.”

She caught Arthur’s eyes and understanding passed between them. “Thank you,” he mouthed.

She lifted her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss.

They hadn’t stayed late. After enduring their friends’ good-natured ribbing and drinking a few pints, they’d made their excuses. To Leon’s dismay, telling their friends had not, as he’d hoped, eased the level of sexual tension. Arthur had draped his arm across the back of Merlin’s chair, taking every opportunity to caress his arm, his ear, the side of his neck. Merlin was sat close, his thigh pressed against Arthur’s own. The more he drank, the closer he leaned and the frequency with which he placed his hand on Arthur’s leg increased. 

“Get a room,” Gwaine called.

“Oh my god,” said Mithian. “It’s actually going to be even worse now, isn’t it?”

As Arthur dragged Merlin out the door, hand gripped tightly in his own, Merlin threw up a two finger salute to the table with his other, the sound of laughter following them out the door. The walk to Arthur’s took longer than usual, as they’d stopped to snog several times on the way home. Arthur couldn’t get enough of Merlin, impatient to touch him, to taste him.

Now inside, Merlin writhing against him, back against the wall, Arthur gave his nipples one last hard pinch before dropping to his knees and pressing his face against Merlin’s groin.

“Arthur,” Merlin gasped. He sounded wrecked.

Arthur unfastened his flies and tugged down Merlin’s trousers and pants, staring as his hard cock sprung free. He gave a tentative lick to the underside, mesmerized as it twitched. Arousal flooded through him at the sound of Merlin’s strangled whimper. He looked up to see Merlin staring down at him, eyes dark and tension in every line of his body.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I want to do everything with you,” Arthur said, voice rough and low, before grasping Merlin’s cock and guiding it into his mouth. Merlin’s cock twitched again and his eyes closed, head falling back to thump against the wall. Encouraged by this response, Arthur tried to take him deeper, unexpectedly gagging when Merlin’s hips bucked forward.

He pulled off blinking rapidly.

“God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Merlin said with a hysterically giggle. He reached up and grabbed handfuls of his own dark hair in his fists. “You’re fucking incredible and now you’ll never want to do this again.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, looking up at him with a roll of his eyes.

“What?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay,” he said breathlessly.

Arthur gripped his shaft and brought it to his lips again, his tongue darting out to lick at the slit, tasting the bead of precome. Merlin’s hands were in fists at his sides, body rigid and still. Arthur explored the head with his mouth, lips closing around the crown and sliding a little farther down, nudging at the foreskin, hollowing his cheeks and sucking gently. He felt Merlin’s dick twitch again and a spurt of salty wetness slid onto his tongue. He hummed appreciatively.

“Fuck,” Merlin whispered. “Fuck.”

Wanting to try again to take him deeper, he opened his mouth wider, tongue sliding and tasting as he slowly took more of Merlin’s cock in his mouth. When he felt his throat closing, he stopped and pulled back a tiny bit, not wanting to trigger his gag reflex again. Then he closed his eyes, feeling the hot heavy weight of Merlin’s cock resting on his tongue, the way it seemed to pulse in his mouth, even as Merlin kept absolutely still. He could hear Merlin breathing above him, short panting gasps of air. He was trembling, tiny shudders rippling through him as Arthur held his cock still in his mouth, warm and wet.

Arthur was rock hard; Merlin’s response to him was incredibly arousing. He’d love to reach down and unfasten his trousers, take his own cock in his hand, mouth stuffed full of Merlin cock, but he didn’t think he could be that coordinated. He whimpered as Merlin’s hips made another tiny bucking motion, as if protesting against his stillness. Another strangled noise came from Merlin’s mouth.

“Sorry,” he said again.

Arthur started moving then, trying to mimic what he himself liked when he was being blown. He knew he wasn’t very skilled. His mouth was too wet, too sloppy. He could feel saliva dripping down his chin. His rhythm was irregular, hand clumsy on the base of Merlin’s cock. But the noises from Merlin’s mouth made it clear he was enjoying it and those almost involuntary little hitches of his hips continued. When Arthur took him in deeper again, making another attempt to get more of his shaft into his mouth, Merlin pushed against Arthur’s forehead.

“Going to come. Pull off. I’m going to come.”

Instead, Arthur sucked harder, stroking Merlin with his tongue while he reached to the underside of Merlin’s cock, taking his balls in his hand and squeezing lightly. He felt them pull up then Merlin was shouting, fist tugging at Arthur’s hair, the sharp sting making his own cock jump. Pulse after pulse of salty wetness spurted onto his tongue. Arthur had to pull back because it was too much. He tried to swallow but couldn’t manage it all, feeling some of Merlin’s come dribbling out the side of his mouth and splashing on his upper lip. Merlin groaned when Arthur took him back in, sucking and licking the last traces of his release, awed at the way Merlin jerked and moaned, almost as if he were in pain.

Fumbling with his trousers, Arthur was desperate to free his cock. He plunged his hand down his pants, grasping it in his fist, all the while sucking on Merlin, feeling his body convulse against him, listening to the obscene sounds he made, shuddering and moaning. He wanted to keep Merlin in his mouth while he came, but Merlin, over-sensitive, pushed Arthur away. Then he dropped down beside him, joined his hand with Arthur’s, licking the come off his chin and the moans from his mouth as Arthur spilled over their joined fists.

Merlin continued to kiss him, filthy and deep, until their breathing began to settle and their heart rates returned to normal. Arthur hummed into his mouth, boneless and sated.

“I can do better,” he said against Merlin’s mouth. “Next time, I’ll do better. Just need a little practice.”

“You’re perfect,” Merlin said, hands in Arthur’s hair, lips roaming his face, placing gentle kisses over his cheeks, his eyes, his nose. “You’re fucking perfect.”

-o-

“Did Hugh Grant ever get his boy?” Arthur asked one evening. He nodded to the cover of Merlin’s book. They were on his sofa, Merlin reclining, his back against one of the arms, his legs across Arthur’s lap. Periodically, he’d jot down notes in a spiral bound notebook. Arthur had his laptop propped against Merlin’s calves.

“That’s right. We still need to watch the rest of the film. Do you want me to put it on?”

“Not right now. I need to finish this before my supervision. I just saw the cover of your book and was curious.”

“You’re more serious about your studies than I expected.”

“What?” Arthur shot Merlin a puzzled look.

Merlin flushed slightly. He put the pen between the pages of his book to hold his place and set it down on his stomach.

“That sounded bad, didn’t it?” He grimaced.

“Merlin, do you mean to tell me that you’re only now discovering I’m more than just a pretty face?”

“Now there’s the Arthur we all know and love.”

Arthur ignored the last part, determined not to read too much into the statement, even as the words gave him a secret thrill. “I am in my third year at Cambridge, you do realise.”

“I know.” Merlin laughed self-consciously. “I guess I had a picture in my head of what you were like. In some ways, you’re the exact spoiled prat I’ve always thought you were. But in other ways, you’re a complete surprise. A good surprise,” he added at Arthur’s slight frown.

“Isn’t that how it is with anyone once you get to know them?”

“I guess so. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m finding this conversation fascinating.”

“Of course you do. It’s about you.”

“Oi.” He flicked Merlin’s ankle. “So what else surprised you?”

“Nothing,” Merlin said, far too quickly. “Don’t you want to know about Hugh Grant?”

“Bollocks. What else? Hugh Grant can wait.”

Merlin was silent.

“Come on. Fess up,” Arthur demanded.

Merlin hesitated a little more then said, “You’re… sweet.”

Arthur looked delightfully pleased. “That’s a filthy lie. You take that back,” he said.

Merlin laughed. “Shan’t.”

“There are worse things, I suppose.” He couldn’t stop his mouth from smiling. Deciding to let Merlin off the hook he said, “So tell me about our man Hugh.”

“Ah. Clive—Hugh Grant—does fall in love with Maurice, but ends up marrying a woman and breaking Maurice’s heart.”

“What? Well, that was unexpected.”

“Not so much, actually, if you’re reading between the lines. He always talks of love between men as the intellectual ideal, platonic and not physical. In the book he goes abroad and claims to have come home changed, no longer desiring men. The film is a little more explicit about his change of heart. Oscar Wilde’s imprisonment and ‘the love that dare not speak its name’ was very much in the forefront of people’s minds. Clive freaks out when their old school friend, Lord Risley, is arrested and sentenced to imprisonment and hard labor.”  

“So he goes deep in the closet and gets married rather than risk the same.”

“Precisely. He very conscious of his position, as well as having political ambitions.”

“Poor Hugh.”

“Poor Hugh,” Merlin agrees.

“And what happens to Maurice?”

“Maurice meets Clive’s gamekeeper… played by Rupert Graves.” Merlin grinned.

“Lestrade, really? My word, he gets around.”

“I knew you’d like that part. Name is Alec Scudder. But first, Maurice tries to seek out a cure for his homosexuality. He goes to a doctor and then a hypnotist. It doesn’t work, obviously.”

“That’s sad. Poor Maurice.”

“Poor Maurice, indeed. But he finds something special with Alec. Their relationship is very physical—thank you Merchant-Ivory for the full frontal nudity.”

“I guess we will be watching the rest of the film someday soon.”

Merlin smiled at the comment before continuing. “And they realise they’re in love. And Alec is going to sail off to another country for work, but Maurice begs him to stay, says they can run off together somewhere. So he does.”

“So Hugh Grant doesn’t get his boy, but Maurice does.”

“Yes. The film ends with poor Hugh, very attractively staring out the window, thinking of the life he could have had.”

“Poor Hugh.”

-o-

Arthur slid into bed, fresh from the shower. Merlin was waiting, propped up against the pillows, reading.  They’d taken to sleeping at Arthur’s most nights, his bed far more spacious and comfortable than Merlin’s student accommodations. Merlin closed his book and set it on the bedside table, leaning over and pressing his face into Arthur’s neck.

“Mmm, you smell good.”

Arthur chuckled, wrapping his arms around Merlin and pulling him close. “Merlin?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Merlin pulled away to look at Arthur’s face. “What?”

“I want you to fuck me.” He repeated himself, more slowly this time.

“Are you sure? Not everyone likes it. I don’t mind bottoming. I mean, it should be pretty obvious I like it when you fuck me.”

Arthur smiled. “Yes, I can tell how much you like it. Maybe I want to know why you like it so much.” He kissed Merlin, nipping at his bottom lip. “And maybe I want some pointers on how I can make it better for you.”

“You always make it good for me.”

“I was serious when I said I wanted to do everything with you,” he said, kissing Merlin again, hot and dirty, grinding against him, his cock beginning to get hard. “I want everything.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll fuck you,” Merlin said, a little out of breath.

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, tonight. If that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want,” Arthur said, sitting up to pull off his tee. Then he shimmied out of his pajama bottoms. Merlin kissed him again before reaching into the drawer of the bedside table and pulling out the lube and a condom.

“Lie back,” Merlin said, as he slid down the bed between Arthur’s legs, pushing them apart and kissing and nipping at the inside of his thighs. Arthur’s cock stirred at the touch. Then Merlin’s mouth moved inwards to his groin. Arthur expected Merlin to take him into his mouth, but instead, he felt Merlin’s tongue on his balls, taking one between his lips and then the other. The wetness sliding against his skin had Arthur reaching for Merlin’s head, burying his fingers in his dark curls and scratching lightly.

After several long minutes of mouthing at his balls, Merlin pulled away and sat up on his knees. “Turn over, yeah?” His voice was rough and deep. Arthur did, lying on his stomach. “Up on your knees, okay?” Merlin asked. Arthur felt a flutter of discomfort at the request, maybe a little embarrassment. But Merlin’s hand was on his backside, the back of his thigh, stroking his skin, keeping the connection between them. “Don’t worry. I’m going to get you ready first. You’ll like it,” Merlin assured him. “And if you don’t, just tell me to stop.”

Arthur nodded his head and got on his knees, his head buried in his forearms on a pillow. Merlin stroked him again, slow smooth circles over his buttocks, thumbs gliding gently over the crease between his arse. Then with one hand firm on his lower back, Merlin slid the other down to the back of his thigh, reaching between his legs, placing gentle pressure. “Can you open them for me?” Arthur did as he was asked, feeling heat bloom on his face and down his chest knowing Merlin could see him, completely exposed.

He instinctively clenched, but Merlin continued his slow strokes, leaning over to kiss his rounded backside, biting gently into his skin. Then Merlin’s hands were pulling his cheeks apart and Arthur felt hot breath on his skin right before Merlin’s wet tongue flicked across his opening. Arthur jolted in surprise.

Merlin soothed him again with agile hands, pressing his lips against Arthur’s arse, licking and kissing. Arthur felt him moving slowly inwards again and was better prepared when Merlin licked right at the sensitive skin again. He’d watched porn and he’d seen rimming before, but he was completely unprepared for how vulnerable he felt having Merlin’s mouth on this most intimate spot.

Merlin was patient, licking slowly over and over across Arthur’s furrowed hole. The heat and the wetness and the rhythmic movements finally had Arthur’s shoulders drooping, the tenseness leaving his body. Merlin’s lapping grew more intense, broad strokes of his tongue completely wetting him, sliding again and again over his delicate skin. Arthur could feel his body loosen, his discomfiture fade as he opened to welcome Merlin’s relentless tongue. His stomach muscles tightened and his cock began to twitch in response.

Then Merlin altered his movements, tongue becoming pointed as it pushed at his opening. He retreated, swiping another broad lick across his hole before pushing in again. After a few more similar passes, wet broad licks then pressing inside, Arthur’s thighs began to tremble. The next time Merlin’s tongue darted in, Arthur widened his legs and pushed backwards against Merlin’s mouth, moaning at the hot wet heat. Merlin enthusiastically ramped up his efforts, pushing his tongue as deeply as he could inside Arthur’s body.

When he pulled away, blowing a puff of air across the wet flesh, Arthur felt his hole flutter in reaction and he moaned again. He could picture the wanton sight, slick and wet and open, eager for that agile tongue to return.

He heard the click of the lube and then Merlin’s husky voice was like a caress. “Look at you,” he said, tone full of wonder. “You look fucking beautiful like this, just fucking incredible.” Then his finger was pressing into Arthur, only a little at first. Merlin’s tongue flicked at his opening again as he slowly worked the finger farther in.

“That okay?” Merlin asked. Arthur nodded his head against the pillow. So Merlin pushed his finger in again, twisting it a little as he slid deeper. It wasn’t uncomfortable, Arthur thought, but it was foreign, different from anything he was familiar with. Merlin kept up his movements with just the one finger, getting Arthur used to it, continuing to lick around his entrance. “I’m going to add another now,” he said. “Is that okay?”

Again, Arthur nodded. The stretch was a little uncomfortable, but he rapidly became used it, especially with the way Merlin continued to lick him as he worked his fingers in and out. And then Merlin curled his fingers and was rubbing back and forth deep inside him. Arthur let out a high whine as goose bumps broke out on his flesh. His thighs started shaking and he wanted to both pull away and push back to get those fingers deeper at the same time. The intensity of the sensation was overwhelming. Merlin eased his fingers back out, stroking his backside. “Was that too much?” he asked as Arthur tried to catch his breath.

“Yes,” he said, panting. “No,” he corrected a moment later. Merlin chuckled. “I’m assuming that was my prostate,” he added once his brain was working again.

“Yeah.”

“Feels good.” He was almost slurring.

“Yeah?”

Arthur nodded.

“More?” Merlin asked.

“Yeah.”

Merlin slicked his fingers up and pushed them inside Arthur once again, curling them to press against the sensitive gland. Even though he was expecting the sensation this time, Arthur’s body still reacted strongly to Merlin’s stroking, his back arching as he pushed back, more helpless whines wrung from his throat. Merlin was unrelenting, fingers moving and caressing over and over. Arthur was shaking, his cock dripping, all feeling concentrated in that one spot, Merlin’s fingers in his ass, pressing deep.

“I can get you off like this,” Merlin said, his own arousal evident in the huskiness of his voice. “We don’t have to do any more tonight if you don’t want.” He mouthed Arthur’s arse cheek, biting down. Arthur let out a long, quiet moan. “Would you like that? Want me to get you off like this?”

But Arthur shook his head no. “Want to feel your cock in me,” he panted out.

“All right,” said Merlin. “Yeah, all right.”

Arthur whimpered when Merlin slid his fingers out, but he was too wound up to care. Then he heard the tear of the condom wrapper and Merlin’s cock was pressed against him, pushing in hot and slick. Merlin’s gripped his hip with one hand with the other soothed over Arthur’s back. He kept pushing, slow and steady, and Arthur felt himself stretching, uncomfortable almost to the point of pain, but deeply satisfying all the same, easing the dull ache of want Merlin’s fingers had left in him.

Merlin stilled when he was buried deep, hands roving all over Arthur’s shoulders and back. “You okay?" he asked.

Arthur nodded yes.

Then Merlin pulled out and slid back in, slow and deep. Arthur was so sensitized from Merlin’s fingers and mouth that he couldn’t stop another long moan from escaping. His cock jumped. On the third thrust, Arthur’s whole body went taut and he cried out, spasming as he came untouched, his cock spending in thick stripes on the bed.

“Oh my god,” Merlin said reverently. “You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” Then he was draping himself over Arthur’s back, arms wrapped around him and pumping into him, strong and steady, mouthing against the back of his neck, gasping and moaning until his hips jerked in one final hard thrust as he came, groaning into Arthur’s skin.

After they’d collapsed on the mattress, Merlin wrapped himself around Arthur, holding him close, petting and caressing him, whispering a litany of praise in his ear.

“You’re so fit and gorgeous, so fucking hot. That was amazing. You’re amazing. You’re so good. That was incredible. So good, Arthur, so fucking good.”

Arthur felt dazed, wrung out, emotionally exhausted, body sore with an unfamiliar ache. But he leaned back into Merlin’s warmth, twining their legs together and reaching his arm up and behind to bury his fingers in the silky strands of Merlin’s hair. He drifted off to sleep, Merlin’s soft words a lullaby.

-o-

Merlin lay on his back, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat. He was so beautiful like this, hair damp on his forehead, cheeks flushed after having been thoroughly fucked by Arthur. More than a year after they first got together, every time was still as devastating as the first, overwhelmingly and mind-shatteringly good. He’d applied himself to the study of Merlin’s pleasure in the way he tackled everything: with laser focus, fierce determination, and intense concentration. They’d long since done away with condoms and Arthur slid down the bed, pushing Merlin’s thighs apart so he could watch his release sliding out of Merlin’s hole— _his_ come in Merlin’s body,  lying in _their_ bed,  inside _their_ home.

A wave of possessiveness overtook him and if he wasn’t spent from their recent activities, he’d shove his cock right back into Merlin’s dripping hole, fuck him again, fill him up with his come and kiss the cries off his gorgeous lips. As it was, his dick gave a feeble jerk, signaling its willingness, if not its ability to get hard again so soon.

Instead, he slid his finger through the drips of come, shoveling it up towards Merlin’s hole and pushing it back inside his body. He felt Merlin tense, his oversensitive body spasming around his finger, squeezing it tight. Fascinated, he did it again, pressing in deep while biting the inside of Merlin’s thigh. Merlin’s head was thrown back. He made a soft high-pitched cry and then his cock gave a twitch, one last small spurt of come pulsing from the tip and sliding down to his belly. Arthur pulled his finger out, leaned over to lick the come off Merlin’s taut stomach before moving up to kiss Merlin’s mouth, immediately deepening the kiss to share the taste on his tongue.

 _Merlin, Merlin, Merlin_ , his mind sang. And then with a soul-searing certainty, _mine_.

-o-

When Merlin wasn’t in the Archive Centre, he and Arthur had taken to studying together, sometimes in the Cambridge Library, Merlin’s usual haunt, and others at the Marshall Library of Economics on the western side of Sidgwick site. As Merlin had discovered, Arthur was extremely serious about his studies, preparing for his future at Pendragon Holdings. He put in long hours with his school work and never settled for doing less than his best. And even with the hours and hours spent quietly together, Arthur realised he knew little of the specificities of Merlin’s work, aside from his interest in Forster. In his efforts to learn everything there was to know about Merlin, he’d left a gaping omission.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes. “Let’s take a break,” he suggested. “Maybe grab some coffee or a cuppa. If I look at these numbers another minute, I’m afraid I’ll go cross-eyed.”

Merlin looked up and his expression softened at Arthur’s obvious frustration. “Yeah, okay. I can finish this up later.”

They gathered their belongings and walked to Caffè Nero, the coffee shop across from the Chapel. Once they were settled at a table with their drinks, Arthur decided to remedy his lack of knowledge.

“Tell me more about what you’re working on. I know it’s Forster, and don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t seem the sort who’d be interested in stodgy upper class Brits from the Edwardian period.”

Merlin cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe I’m interested in stodgy upper class Brits who fall for lower class folks, like Maurice and his gamekeeper Alec, Helen Mirren and her Italian son-of-a-dentist baby daddy, even Lucy and philosophy-loving George.”

“Are you?” Arthur asked. “If you are, that’s all well and good, but hasn’t that class difference thing been done to death?”

“It has,” Merlin admitted with a smile. “My primary interest in E.M. Forster is his place in queer studies.”

“Because of _Maurice_?”

“Yeah, mostly.”

When Merlin didn’t elaborate, Arthur prodded for more. “And? Tell me. I’m interested.”

Merlin eyed him, as if to assess his seriousness. Seeming to conclude Arthur wasn’t just humoring him, he elaborated. “You know Forster never published _Maurice_ while he was still alive.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah. It was published after his death in 1971, a few short years after the Sexual Offences Act of 1967, decriminalizing homosexuality. Well, sort of decriminalizing it, but that’s another subject.”

Arthur made a mental note to come back to that topic another time. “Would he have been arrested?”

“It wasn’t so much that. It was that he insisted on a happy ending for Maurice. He called it an imperative. You could have your queers in literature, but they needed to come to a bad end—death, dishonour, unhappiness, suicide. It was an incredibly transgressive position to take, radical even.”

Arthur nodded thoughtfully, encouraging Merlin to continue.

“Even today, it’s quite radical. Think of all the queer stories you’ve seen in mainstream media. Outside of the much maligned romance genre—on which  Forster was hugely influential, by the way—do you ever see your gay leads get a happy ending? ‘Bury your gays’ is so common it’s become an actual trope. You can have the most obscene violence in a film but add two men kissing and suddenly, it’s shocking.”

Arthur didn’t interrupt, rapt at the passion in Merlin’s voice.

“And to this day, it’s common for film to be censored for overseas distribution, removing any traces of the gay. You can argue all you want that it’s a financial matter, catering to a Chinese audience, but the underlying decision is based in homophobia.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

“It’s different for you,” Merlin said, looking down at his coffee.

“Different for me?” Arthur asked, back going straighter. “What do you mean?”

Merlin fidgeted uncomfortably. “You’ve been straight all your life. You have no idea what it was like to grow up as the only gay boy in a small Welsh village. To find a book that not only allowed someone like me to have a happy ending, but actually _insisted_ on it, well, that…” he trailed off as if he was having trouble putting his feelings into words.

Arthur reached across the table and took Merlin’s hand in his. He took a deep breath before speaking, wanting a moment to gather his thoughts. “First of all,” he said in a firm voice, “I have not been straight my whole life. I’m bisexual.” He’d done his fair share of soul-searching when he’d begun to realise what Merlin meant to him. He’d accepted his new reality and he wasn’t going to let anyone, not even Merlin, negate his understanding of himself. “I believe the phrase you’re looking for is straight privilege.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “Oh my god. I’m sorry. Arthur, I’m so sorry. I know better. I do. Fuck.”

Arthur, placed his other hand over Merlin’s holding it between both of his. “Hush,” he said.  “It’s all right.”

“It’s really not.” He looked stricken.

“It is. I understood what you meant. I haven’t had to suffer because of who I am. I do realise that. I imagine my wealth gives me an added layer of protection now that I’m, well, I guess ‘out’ is the most apt way to put it. And I’ve lived largely apart from LGBT culture because I never saw myself a part of it until recently.”

He petted Merlin’s hand until the expression on his face eased. “And I’m sorry about what you went through,” he added softly. “I’m sorry you were lonely. And I want you to know you’re not alone any more. All right?” He gazed into Merlin’s beautiful blue eyes. “You have me.”

Merlin stared at him, searching Arthur’s face. Then he leaned across the table and kissed him.

Two days later, Arthur was retrieving his laptop from his backpack to charge it and found an unfamiliar package inside, a small card taped to the front. He detached the card and opened it. It was a small rectangle of plain cream paper covered in Merlin’s scratchy handwriting _. I’m sorry about the other day. I wanted you to have this. Love, M_.  He tore off the paper wrapping and found a well-worn copy of _Maurice_ inside.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

_“He knew that loneliness was poisoning him, so that he grew viler as well as more unhappy.”  
E.M. Forster, Maurice_

* * *

 

[ _Rome, Italy – current day_ ]

Arthur decided to take his cue from Sofia come Monday. If she brought up the kiss and the ensuing conversation, he’d politely tell her he wasn’t ready for a relationship. If she didn’t bring it up, he wouldn’t either. In this particular instance, he was perfectly comfortable taking the coward’s way out. As it happened, she was sitting in his office with a fresh caffè when he arrived. He preferred a cup of tea in the morning, but he was growing used to the copious amount of caffè the Italians drank, so the offering was not unwelcome.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the cup.

“Good morning. I don’t mean to ambush you first thing in the morning, but I thought it might be best if we spoke briefly before we started our day. It’s going to be an extremely busy week and I don’t want any awkwardness between us.”

“That’s sensible,” Arthur said.

“Did you think about what I said?”

Arthur had tried not to, truth be told, at least not much beyond an initial visceral no. He took a sip of his caffè to buy a little time, trying to formulate a response.

“You’re very lovely, Sofia,” he started.

She smiled and cut in before he could go on. “Oh, aren’t you sweet?” she said. “You’re trying to let me down easy.” Paradoxically, she seemed delighted. “That’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you, Arthur. You’re always so considerate and well-mannered.”

He was a little at a loss at how to continue. “Yes, well.” He cleared his throat, discomfited. “It’s just that I had a rather bad breakup and I’m not looking to start anything new.” He didn’t want to bring Merlin into this, no matter how obliquely, but being straightforward was probably best.

“It’s not me, it’s you?” she asked with a smile.

“Something like that.”

“All right. I can’t say I’m not a little disappointed. I mean, purely from a practical standpoint, I still think we make a lot of sense together. A closer relationship could be beneficial for the both of us, not to mention keep Papà from meddling. Even if you want to just tell people we’re seeing each other, to keep certain parents at bay, I’m entirely open to that.”

“Interesting idea,” Arthur said thoughtfully.

“I won’t pester you by bringing it up again, but I want you to know the option is out there, should you change your mind.”

“Fair enough.”

“Good. Now while I’m here, should we go over the notes from the transportation meeting?”

They continued to work comfortably side by side. Sofia didn’t bring it up again.

That evening, Arthur picked up _Maurice_ , intending to continue reading where he’d left off the day before. He looked again at Merlin’s inscription, the _M &A_ and the happy ending. He read Forster’s dedication, “To a Happier Year.” But he couldn’t bring himself to open the pages. He didn’t want to read about Maurice’s heartbreak, his terrible loneliness, his suicidal thoughts. He didn’t want to read about his self-loathing, his search for a cure. He especially didn’t want to read about him finding love with someone new.

Intellectually, he understood the power of the happy ending, that Maurice and Alec escaped the bounds of society to roam the greenwood, as Forster had put it, together. But where Merlin found solace in the novel, Arthur felt only anger. How stupid Clive was to let Maurice slip through his fingers.

Arthur set the book aside. He leaned over, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He knew he was being irrational, but he couldn’t stem his roiling emotions. His indulgence in self-pity had veered into dangerous territory. If he didn’t get hold of himself, he’d drown in the grief he’d not yet allowed himself to fully feel.

He should go for a run, he mused, let his muscles burn and lose himself in the rhythm of his feet. Or he could go over those numbers again, prepare for tomorrow’s meetings. He did neither. Instead, he went to the kitchen and poured himself several fingers of scotch. He didn’t need a novel to dwell on heartbreak and loneliness. After all, what was one bad decision more?

The alarm sounded like a siren blaring. Arthur groped for the bedside table to find his phone and turn off the jarring noise. He groaned as the motion made his stomach lurch. After lying in bed longer than he should, he dragging himself up. His first stop was the kitchen where he drank a tall glass of water. He then brought another to the lavatory to take with some paracetamol from the cabinet. A hot shower did little to ease his misery, nor did a strong cup of tea.

He deserved the hangover. He knew better than to drown his sorrows in drink, especially when he had to be up early for work. The day was endless, an excruciating grind of meeting after meeting. Arthur longed to shut his office door and tip back in his chair for even a five minute reprieve, but his schedule was unforgiving. As the work day finally drew to a close, the dull throb of his head from the morning had grown to pounding levels of discomfort. Thank goodness they didn’t have to entertain at dinner that evening.

When he walked into his empty apartment, he was taken anew with another wave of despondency. There was no cheerful hello, no scattered mess, no clothes on the bedroom floor. No welcoming kiss. Before him stood only an empty stretch of days full of work and more work and excruciating loneliness. Suddenly, he understood how one could succumb to the lure of alcohol, how a vibrant life could fall to ruin as one sought a balm for pain.

After ordering in for dinner, he flipped through the television channels, looking for some mindless entertainment or perhaps a footie game. Nothing caught his attention. He turned the power off and tipped his head back. Thinking about his day tomorrow—more of the same—left him bitter and morose. He wondered if it was too early to just go to bed.

On impulse, he picked up his phone and dialed a familiar number. When there was an answer at the other end, he spoke. “Morgana? Do you think you could spare some time for a visit?”

-o-

“Oh, Arthur,” Morgana said when he met her at the baggage claim of Fiumicino airport. She forewent her usual greeting of kisses on the cheeks and instead wrapped her arms around him. Arthur held her slight frame tightly and buried his face in her long dark hair, breathing in the sweet floral scent.  
  
“Thanks for coming,” he said quietly. When he released her a moment later, she stepped back stared at his face, a concerned frown on her own. “That bad?” he asked.

She gave a small shake of her head with a slight uplift of her dark brows. “You’ve looked better.”

He knew the circles were back under his eyes. It had taken Morgana a few weeks to clear the time for a visit and Arthur had spent the interim buried in work, keeping himself busy lest he start spiraling down the self-pity route again. She’d phoned him often and judging from the numerous calls and texts he’d received from Gwaine and Leon lately, he suspected she’d bullied them into reaching out as well. As well-meaning as she obviously was, he couldn’t help but be a little irritated at their solicitousness. Surely, he wasn’t that fragile.

“I’m actually surprised you came to meet me yourself. “Not that I’m complaining,” she added. “Though sending a car would have been fine.”

“Maybe I missed you,” Arthur said.

“I should hope so. Now help me with my bags,” she commanded as her luggage made its way along the conveyor belt.

“My god. Just how long are you planning to stay?”

“Very funny,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

After the short drive to Arthur’s apartment—one of the advantages of living in the EUR district was its proximity to the airport—Arthur gave Morgana the tour and got her settled in the guest bedroom. They grabbed a few beers from the kitchen and walked upstairs to the terrace to relax.

“Beautiful view,” Morgana said, leaning on the ledge, looking out over the city. “Do you spend a lot of time up here?”

“Not as much as I thought I would.”

“You’re working too much.”

“It’s not that—”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Morgana cocked a skeptical eyebrow.

“All right. Maybe I have been working a lot. But Father expects—” This time, he cut himself off. “You know what? Let’s not do this tonight. Let’s just have a nice dinner and you can tell me all about Owain and London and everything you’ve been up to.”

Morgana seemed happy to let the subject drop. “All right. You know, I do plan to feed you while I’m here. But tonight, I’ll let you take me out somewhere fancy for dinner.”

“You don’t have to cook while you’re here,” Arthur said, knowing any protestations would be futile. “But I’m happy to take you out somewhere. Only the best for my big sister.”

“That’s more like it,” she said, smiling.

“I wouldn’t mind getting your opinion on a few restaurants while you’re here. We’re still finalizing plans for the hotel and need to firm up some decisions on that front.”

“Arthur,” Morgana said, exasperated, “I am not going to let you work through dinner.”

“It’s not work. It’s—”

“Yes it is.” She didn’t let him finish. “You know it is. And you know I’m always happy to share my opinions.”

“I do, indeed,” he said drily.

Morgana smacked his arm. “But we’re not talking about the hotel tonight. Or tomorrow. Or even the next day. And hopefully, the day after that. I can’t promise you’re not going to hear from me on other subjects, though.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

“But you are going to take some time off while I’m here. I have never seen you more in need of a break.”

Arthur tried not to feel sullen. He knew she was right. “Fine. But I will have to go in to the office in the morning to take care of a few things before I can be freed up for the day.”

“Oh my god.”

“For the next few days,” he corrected.

“I’m going with you,” she said.

“You most certainly are not.”

-o-

“You must be Sofia,” Morgana said, greeting the woman waiting for Arthur outside his office the next morning.

“Yes,” Sofia said, extending her hand to shake. “And you’re Arthur’s sister I presume.”

“Morgana Le Fay. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. So I understand you’re forcing this one away from the office for a few days,” Sofia said with a nod in Arthur’s direction.

“That’s the plan.”

“Good. He can use some time off. I’m sorry he had to come in today. We just need to go over a few items for a couple of upcoming meetings, but then he’s all yours.”

“I was worried I’d get an argument from you. Arthur tells me you work as many hours as he does.”

Sofia gave a sheepish grin. “Guilty. But I love it. I don’t mind covering while family are visiting. Arthur’s more than earned some time off. And he’d do the same for me, I know. Speaking of, Arthur, can I speak with you privately for a moment?”

Arthur looked at Morgana. “How about I have my assistant give you a tour while Sofia and I work?”

“All right,” said Morgana. “But remember your promise.”

“I remember,” said Arthur. “No more than a few hours.”

“An hour. We said an hour.”

“Did we?” Arthur asked, ignoring her sputtered response as he arranged for Morgana’s tour.

When he and Sofia were settled around the table in his office, Arthur asked, “So what did you need to speak to me privately about? I’m assuming it’s not work-related.”

“Work-adjacent, I’d say,” Sofia said.

“So what’s up?”

“My father is coming back to Rome next week.”

“Ah, I’m surprised Father hasn’t rung me yet.”

“No, it’s only for a night. And I know Morgana will still be here. I’m not expecting you to rearrange any plans. I’m sure the two of us will have a quick visit before he flies out again.”

“All right. Then what did you need from me?”

“You know that thing I said I wouldn’t bring up again.”

Arthur nodded, leaning back in his chair, studying Sofia’s face, trying to get a read on the situation. “So I take it you’re bringing it up again?” he asked.

“Sort of,” she said, nodding. “It’s more about my last suggestion, just telling our fathers we’re seeing each other. I wouldn’t offer the information. I was only thinking if Papà broached the subject. It’d really take the pressure off. And I’d only say we’ve been out a few times. That’s not very far from the truth with the number of business dinners we’ve endured. I wondered if you’d mind terribly.”

Arthur steepled his hands, tapping his index fingers against his lips. He was sure news would get back to Uther. Sofia’s desire to take the pressure off could easily be applied to himself as well. And what would be the harm? Sofia was right; it was close enough to the truth to remain an uncomplicated lie. They could sort everything out later.

“That’s fine,” Arthur said. “If it comes up, feel free to tell him we’re dating. I’ve got no problem with that. Keep me in the loop, though.”

Sofia’s shoulder relaxed and a smile broke out across her face. Arthur realised she must have been nervous about asking. He wasn’t used to seeing her as anything other than wholly confident and competent. “I will. Thank you. It might not come up at all, but I know how my father is.”

“Yes, I imagine he and my own father are a lot alike.”

She nodded in agreement.

“Now let’s go over the agenda for the meetings this week. Morgana will kill me if I don’t wrap this up in a timely manner.”

They didn’t finish in one hour, but they did finish in two.

That afternoon, Morgana insisted on shopping.

“I’m going to make you take me sightseeing. But first, I need some new clothes. The Italians always have such impeccable style.”

“Shopping, really? Didn’t you bring like 18 suitcases?”

“Please,” Morgana said. “Since when have you objected to shopping? But if you’re going to be all tetchy about it, we’ll just stick to some shoes today. I can save the rest for when you inevitably claim you need to go back to work. But until that day comes, I want to do all the touristy places. I’m sure you haven’t bothered since you’ve been here.”

“I’ve been to the Teatro dell'Opera di Roma. And I’ve spent plenty of time at the Parco Centrale del Lago.”

“Those hardly count,” Morgana said.

“Of course they count.”

“Barely. And we need to get you out of the EUR. There’s no romance here.”

Now, that he could agree with.

It was late in the day by the time Morgana had her fill of Italian leather. Arthur had bought himself some boots as well, to Morgana’s knowing amusement. They’d had a light meal in the late afternoon, along with a caffè, but it was too early for dinner.

“You know what we should do?” Arthur said. “We should walk up to Gianicolo Hill. The view is supposed to be spectacular.”

“So you’ve never been?”

“No, always meant to, but never managed. If we time it right, we could catch the sunset. Unless you’re not up for the hike.”

“Shopping invigorates me,” Morgana said. “That actually sounds perfect.”

“Then we can have dinner in Trastevere afterwards.”

Gianicolo Hill sat right outside the city, west of the Tiber. From Via Garibaldi they took the staircase to the Church of San Pietro in Montorio. Beyond that, they continued upwards until they reached the Fontana dell'Acqua Paola, a massive Baroque marble fountain. The climb at times was steep, but once they made their way to the top, the entire city was spread before them.

“Whew,” said Morgana, looking out at the rooftops of Rome, sky vivid with gold and pink and orange as the sun was beginning to set, “that was a workout.” She was slightly out of breath as she fished a tissue from her purse, dabbing it against her forehead and upper lip.

“But worth it.”

“Absolutely.”

“There’s St. Peter’s Basilica,” Arthur pointed out.  “And the Villa Borghese,” he added, pointing to the famous park. “We should go there this week, maybe rent some bikes. There are a few nice museums as well.”

“That sounds fun. Look, there’s the Colosseum. We’re definitely going there.”

“All right.”

They pointed out a few more recognizable landmarks to each other, enjoying the panorama.

After a few moments Morgana said, “I think I’m going to look for some bottled water, or a drinking fountain if there’s one around.”

“I can do that if you want to rest more.”

“No, I don’t mind. I want to look at that monument over there too. Just stay here so I can find you again.”

“All right, if you’re sure.”

Morgana nodded. “Be back in a few.”

Alone, now, Arthur stared out at the city below and was taken back to another hill, another view, another time. A slight breeze ruffled his hair. He should have known a scene like this would trigger memories. But then, he thought bitterly, what didn’t these days? Wasn’t that why he’d kept himself so busy these past few months? Well, there was no help for it now, was there? No meetings, no spreadsheets, no Morgana, no distractions, only Arthur and his thoughts, trapped together atop a scenic Roman hillside.


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

_"I have a theory that there is something in the Italian landscape which inclines even the most stolid nature to romance."  
_ _E.M. Forster, A Room with a View_

* * *

 

[ _Fiesole, Italy – 2 years prior]_

Arthur was sorry to leave Florence. Next on their agenda was San Gimignano, the town after which Forster’s _Where Angels Fear to Tread_ was modeled, about an hour’s travel south, and then they’d move on to Rome. They’d enjoyed every minute of their time in Florence, visiting as many locations from Forster’s _A Room with a View_ as they could fit in, Dante's tomb in the Basilica of Santa Croce, the Piazza della Signoria where Lucy witnesses a violent stabbing and then swoons into George’s arms.

They explored the rest of the city as well, the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, the medieval structure with its iconic red-tiled dome, and walked amongst the sculptures and fountains of the Boboli Gardens. They saw the Piazza del Duomo, and the Palazzo Vecchio, a fortified 13th-century palace with elaborate rooms and decorative courtyards, then walked along the Ponte Vecchio, browsing the many shops.

Michelangelo’s David was housed in the Galleria dell'Accademia where they spent one meandering afternoon, and they made a stop at the Mercato Nuovo to see Il Porcellino, the famed bronze fountain of a boar. Legend holds that visitors who rub its snout are destined to return one day to Florence. And every evening, they had stared out at the romantic city from their room overlooking the Arno in the elegant Hotel degli Orafi.

Before they left for San Gimignano, however, they had one more stop to make, the town of Fiesole in the Tuscany countryside, renowned for its stunning vistas of Florence. They caught the Number 7 bus from the Piazza San Marco and rode up the hillside with the other tourists. Booths set up in the square near the bus stop offered sandwiches for sale, and they purchased a few for a picnic lunch.

Their first stop was the old Roman amphitheater with its terraced rows of stone seats amidst Etruscan ruins. The remains of an old Roman bath also graced the landscape. Staring at the massive stone walls and arches, Arthur almost felt as if they’d stepped back in time.

“We should hike down the path past the stone quarries,” suggested Merlin after they’d explored the ruins. “Apparently, we’ll pass the spot where Leonardo da Vinci tested his flying machine.”

“Sounds good. We should keep an eye out for a place to have lunch, something like the area where Professor McGonagall and Dame Judi ate theirs, a nice field overlooking Florence or something. I bet you’d like that.”

“It’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

Arthur nodded his head in agreement. But while that may be why Merlin was here, it wasn’t why Arthur was; Arthur was here for Merlin.

“I just hope you don’t expect me climb a tree and shout about beauty and joy,” he said, referencing George’s actions during their countryside excursion in _A Room with a View_.

“Oh, so you’ve cast yourself as George, have you? And I suppose I’m Lucy in this scenario?”

“Well, you’re hardly Professor McGonagall, now, are you? And I certainly can’t be Lucy. I don’t even know how to play the piano.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, then said, “Come on. It’s this way across the square. We’re supposed to take Via Verdi down to the fork then make a left to get to the Parco di Montececeri.”

The views along the walk were as gorgeous as advertised, with charming villas, panoramic vistas of Florence, the white cave walls of the old quarries, and tufts of wild asparagus along the way. Even more lovely than the Tuscany landscape was Merlin, whose eyes shone with excitement, enraptured by the beautiful scenery.  
  
When they passed a wide open area, accented with the bright splash of poppies, Arthur said, “Let’s stop here for lunch. This looks like a place Lucy would find romantic.”

“She would indeed,” said Merlin, smiling.

Arthur pulled a thin blanket out of his pack and spread it on the ground. They sat down, unwrapping the sandwiches they had bought earlier. Merlin chatted away about the area’s history, and famous residents who’d made their home in Fiesole at some point in their lives—Albert Einstein, Marcel Proust, Paul Klee, Hermann Hesse.

“And Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas would spend summers here before the war,” he added.

“Hm,” said Arthur, momentarily distracted by his buzzing phone. He looked at the text and saw it was a message from his father, wanting to know how soon he’d be in Rome. As Merlin talked on, Arthur hastily typed out a response, outlining their itinerary. Uther responded immediately, asking if he could move up the timeframe. He wanted Arthur to tour a building site, a potential acquisition for Pendragon Holdings. Time was of the essence.

Arthur was vaguely aware of Merlin growing quiet as he texted back and forth with his father. Then he heard a huff as Merlin stood and started walking away from their lunch spot out into the field. 

“George my arse,” Merlin muttered. “More like Cecil.”

Arthur only grunted in response, wrapped up in his conversation. After a few moments of texting, Merlin’s words registered. Arthur pressed send on his final text and looked up. “What?” he said, outrage tingeing his voice.

Merlin was already out in the middle of the field, his back to Arthur, a vision of loveliness with his dark hair and blue chambray shirt set against the brilliant red of the poppies. Arthur tossed his phone down on the blanket and strode after Merlin.

 

“You take that back,” he demanded. “We’ve already established I’m obviously the dashing George.”

He reached Merlin and swept him into his arms, bending him over backwards into an exaggerated dip.

“You’re supposed to swoon,” Arthur instructed Merlin, staring intently into his eyes, lips millimeters from Merlin’s, which were curled upwards at the corners in a cheeky smile.

“Am I?” he asked.

Arthur pressed his lips against Merlin’s, soft yet demanding, tongue plunging deep, tasting and searching, masterfully coaxing a response from Merlin’s gorgeous mouth. He felt Merlin’s fingers dig into his shoulders as he surged upwards towards Arthur’s lips.

Then Arthur pulled back with a smirk, gazing down into Merlin’s darkened eyes.

“Swoon,” Merlin said, breathy and soft.

“That’s more like it.” As he bent to kiss Merlin again, Merlin drew his head back to speak.

“Did you know in earlier versions of the novel Forster wanted to have George killed off by a falling tree?” Clearly Merlin intended to give no ground.

Indignant, Arthur released Merlin, dropping him to the ground. “Romance is dead,” he said forlornly.

Merlin gave a startled shout then kicked out, swiping Arthur’s legs out from under him. Arthur tumbled down, landing on top of Merlin.

“Why you—” he said, before twisting to try and pin Merlin’s arms above his head, using the bulk of his weight to hold him down.

Merlin squirmed beneath him, laughing, getting his arms free, then bringing his hands to Arthur’s sides, tickling him. Arthur jerked away, laughing, trying to scoot backwards away from his relentless fingers. Merlin followed, showing no mercy until he was straddling Arthur’s hips and pinning Arthur’s own arms to the ground.

“You’re a dirty cheater who cheats,” said Arthur.

Merlin grinned triumphantly. “All’s fair in love and war.”

With a powerful surge of his body, Arthur twisted and suddenly their positions were reversed, Merlin flat on his back, Arthur pressed on top of him.

“Okay,” Merlin said, swallowing, “that was pretty hot.”

Arthur gave him a wolfish grin, grinding his hips down then leaned in to kiss him, hard and dirty. Merlin’s mouth immediately opened to him, kissing back with equal enthusiasm, tongues sliding together. Arthur thrilled to each small gasp, the feel of Merlin’s hands roving over his back. He began to rhythmically rock against Merlin as they kissed in the field, feeling both their cocks start to harden. He wondered if he could get off like this, the sun overhead, Merlin underneath, the taste of Merlin on his tongue, the sound of his pleasure in his ear, the pressure of his cock against his thigh.

As their movements grew more frantic, Arthur wanted more, more skin, more taste, more Merlin. He pushed Merlin’s shirt up his chest, sliding down his body so he could mouth at his nipple, teasing it with his tongue, scraping his teeth across the peak, sucking it between his lips. With his free hand, he toyed with his other nipple, caressing it with his thumb and then pinching it lightly between his fingers. Merlin’s head was tipped back, long neck exposed, and his hips bucked up as a cry was wrung from his lips. Arthur repeated the motions until Merlin was writhing beneath him, panting breaths telegraphing how close he was to coming.

Arthur knew how sensitive Merlin’s nipples were and how aroused he became with any stimulation. He knew he could probably have Merlin coming from this alone, but he had other plans. He leaned up on his elbows, reaching for Merlin’s flies.

“Yeah,” Merlin muttered, his own hands reaching down to help with the fastening of his trousers. In no time at all, his pants were around his thighs and his cock was free. Arthur gave a fleeting thought to their exposure on the Italian hillside, but was too far gone to give it much concern. He wasted no time in sucking Merlin’s hard cock between his lips and taking him deep.

Merlin cried out, hips lifting from the ground, and Arthur gripped him firmly, holding him down. Then he bobbed his head up and down, slick slide of his tongue wrapping around Merlin’s shaft, wringing wanton moans from his throat. Before long, he felt Merlin tense, already on the brink of orgasm. He slid a finger down behind Merlin’s balls, stroking gently at his perineum and then Merlin was shouting, shooting into Arthur’s mouth, body trembling with pleasure.

Arthur sucked at him gently until the last spurt of come left Merlin’s cock and his trembling eased. Then he fumbled at his own waistband, intending to quickly toss himself off. He was so turned on, he knew he’d only need a couple of strokes to reach his release.  
  
But then Merlin was sitting up, pushing Arthur’s hands away to take over the task. Then he was bending over, taking Arthur’s cock into his own mouth, using his hand to stroke at the base of Arthur’s cock while he licked over the head. The sight of Merlin’s tousled hair, kiss-swollen lips, wet tongue against his cock was too much for Arthur and at the next firm stroke of Merlin’s fist, he was moaning, coming into Merlin’s open mouth, watching as stripes of white painted those luscious lips and splashed down his chin.

“Christ,” Arthur whispered, overwhelmed at the sight of Merlin swiping the come from his face with his finger before sucking it clean. Arthur leaned up to kiss him, the mingled taste of their come in his mouth, filthy and intimate. They both fell back, Arthur’s hand sinking into Merlin’s silky hair, Merlin’s winding around Arthur’s neck, and they kissed and kissed until they were breathless again.

Arthur pulled away to look at Merlin’s beautiful face, the high cheekbones flushed with color, the brilliant blue of his eyes. He removed a hand from Merlin’s hair to stroke lightly across Merlin’s cheek, sliding a finger down the bridge of his nose, and running his fingertips across his bottom lip.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispered, an ache growing inside his chest at the sight of Merlin’s soft smile, as if his emotions were too big, too powerful to fit inside the confines of a mortal human body.


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

_"Their quarrel was no more surprising than are most quarrels—inevitable at the time, incredible afterwards."  
E.M. Forster, Howards End_

* * *

 

[ _Rome, Italy – current day_ ]

“You’re quiet,” said Morgana over dinner in Trastevere.

Arthur shrugged.

“Are you thinking about work?”

For once, Arthur could answer honestly. “No. I’m actually not.”

“Well, that’s something, at least.”

Arthur let out a small huff of laughter. “I suppose it is.” He took a sip of his wine.

“We don’t have to play tourist, you know,” Morgana said, studying him closely. “I really just wanted you to have a change of scenery.”

“No, it’s all right. I’ve been living here for months, after all. It is a little ridiculous I haven’t visited so many of the major attractions. And you’re on vacation. We should do what you want.”

“All right. In that case, I’ll make you take me sightseeing again tomorrow.”

“Where do you want to go? If it’s somewhere that needs tickets, like the Sistine Chapel, we should plan ahead.”

Morgana pulled out here phone and started tapping the screen. After a few minutes she asked, “Are you up for more walking tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

“The weather’s supposed to be nice. We can do this _Roman Holiday_ walking tour.” She turned her phone to show Arthur a blog post with a map. “I love that film. Have you seen it?”

“Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen it.”

“We should watch it again while I’m here. I never have time to watch films at home.”

“We can do that.”

Morgana was studying her phone again. “This starts at the Spanish Steps, then we visit the Trevi Fountain, then the Pantheon. After that we’ll get to the Piazza Navona, and then we’ll end at Bernini’s angels on the Ponte Sant‘Angelo as we cross the Tiber to Castel Sant'Angelo. We’ll need tickets for that last part, but that’s all. Everything else is outside. That’s not every film location, of course, but this hits quite a few. We can go to the Colosseum another day.”

“Sounds fun.”

Morgana glanced up quickly at his flat tone. “We don’t have to. I told you.”

Arthur shook his head. “No, it’s not that,” he assured her. “It does sound fun. I haven’t been to any of those places and I’d like to see them. I mean, see them up close, rather than from a distance.”

“All right. Then what’s going on? Do you want to talk about it?”

Arthur looked away. He’d invited Morgana to Rome because he’d been lonely and in need of a familiar face, yes. But she was also someone he could talk to. Morgana had always seen right to the heart of things.

He shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts. How could he tell her that he was completely unprepared for his emotional reaction to a hillside view? How could he explain that planning a walking tour of Rome based on a film was far too reminiscent of his Italian travels with Merlin? How could he express the ache in his heart without spiraling again into despair and self-pity?

He should have taken Morgana to Capri or Lake Como, Arthur thought to himself, ruefully. Then maybe he wouldn’t be tortured by thoughts of Merlin on a nearly constant basis. “I do want to talk about it, I think,” he finally answered, staring into his wine glass. “But not right now.” He lifted his gaze to see Morgana staring at him with sympathy in her pale green eyes.

“All right,” she said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

They did end up watching _Roman Holiday_ when they got back to the apartment, staying up well past midnight, but it was a nice change to wake up late and find Morgana making crêpes in the kitchen, the kettle already on.

“I told you; you don’t have to cook while you’re here. We could go out to breakfast. Or I can make you something.”

“Just sit down and say thank you,” Morgana said, plating the crêpes and dusting them with confectioners' sugar before topping them with a dollop of freshly whipped cream and sliced strawberries. She added some blueberries then placed the plate on the granite breakfast bar.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, dutifully, fixing his tea before sitting at the counter. A few minutes later, Morgana joined him with her own plate.

“This is delicious,” Arthur said.

“Thank you. I am a trained professional.”

“How’s the restaurant going?”

“Good. Busy. We’re thinking of opening up a second location.”

“In London?”

“Yes. Uther wants to invest, but Owain is against it.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not entirely opposed to the idea. Now that we’ve proven ourselves, it doesn’t seem as critical to stand on our own.”

“I could always invest if you don’t want Uther involved.” Although much of Arthur’s wealth was tied in up Pendragon Holdings, he had received a sizeable inheritance after his mother’s death, which he’d gained control of after he was of age.

“Uther is not going to be involved whether he invests or not, but I do appreciate the offer. We need to make some decisions soon, though. We’ve got a potential location we need to move on if we don’t want to lose it.”

“Let me know.”

Their walking tour did turn out to be fun. Morgana, as always, was excellent company. They browsed the wares of the street artists at the top of the Spanish Steps. They toured the Pantheon and stopped for a refreshing beverage at a nearby café. At the Trevi fountain, they stood with their backs to the water and tossed a coin over their shoulders, indicating a wish to return to Rome.

They recruited other tourists to snap pictures of them together in front of the various landmarks, and Arthur took some of Morgana for her to send home to Owain. In her dark sunglasses, wide hat atop her head to protect her pale skin from the Italian sun, she looked as glamorous as any film star. Morgana returned the favor, snapping pics of him posing solo. She claimed he looked like a young Roman god with his strong shoulders, chiseled jaw, and aquiline nose, golden hair gleaming in the sunlight.

It was only hours later when they reached the Ponte Sant‘Angelo that Arthur’s mood took a turn towards the melancholy. The stone angels designed by Bernini flanked each side of the bridge as they made their way across the river. Arthur’s attention was arrested by one in particular as they walked past, the planes of its face under a head of curly hair somehow familiar, as was the sadness in its eyes.

As much as he loved Morgana, as enjoyable their day had been, Arthur knew he should be seeing these sights with Merlin. They should have been the ones climbing the Spanish Steps. They should have been the ones crossing the Bridge of Angels. If Merlin had been with him, Arthur wouldn’t have thrown one coin in the Trevi fountain; he would have thrown three. No matter how many months he lived here, no matter the myriad beauties the eternal city had to offer, to Arthur, Rome would always be the place everything had started to fall apart.

-o-

[ _Rome, Italy – 2 years prior_ ]

“No,” said Merlin. “We are not staying in another posh hotel.”

They were on the train, kilometers out from the Roma Termini.

“I told you I was having our suits sent on ahead. Where did you think I was sending them?”

“How should I know? You Pendragons own property all over Europe. Why would I automatically assume another fancy hotel?”

“You knew I needed to spend time in the Rome offices. Do you really expect me to get ready in a hostel with shared sleeping quarters and baths and absolutely no privacy?”

“Yes, Arthur. That’s exactly what I expect you to do. Part of the whole experience is meeting other travelers, hanging out, having drinks together in the evening.”

“Getting bitten by bed bugs, having possessions stolen, not having any sex,” contributed Arthur.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Then we should have found an Airbnb.”

“Fine. Let’s find an Airbnb.”

“It’s a little last minute, don’t you think? Everything good will be taken.”

“Then we’ll stay at the bloody hostel.”

“And what will you wear to your meeting tomorrow?”

“I’ll have a car sent round in the morning to take me over to the hotel to get changed.”

Merlin let out snort of exasperation. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m not the one refusing to stay in a perfectly nice hotel. With a private bath, hot water, and king size bed, I might add.”

“But you are the one who promised to travel within my budget constraints. The way most of this trip has gone, I almost feel like you never intended to honour that agreement in the first place.”

“And as I’ve said, if it’s a business expense, it shouldn’t count, as this would be.”

“Fine. We’ll stay at the hotel tonight, but then we’re finding an Airbnb for the rest of the time.”

“Fine” Arthur tried to keep the smug expression off his face, but from Merlin’s second eye roll of the conversation, he was pretty sure he wasn’t that successful.

-o-

“Admit it,” Arthur said in Merlin’s ear before biting the lobe gently between his teeth.

Merlin moaned, rocking up to meet Arthur’s thrusts, ankles locked behind his back.

“I love your ears,” Arthur murmured, rolling his hips slowly, pushing deep into Merlin again and again.

“Fuck. Arthur,” Merlin panted, turning his head to give Arthur better access as he mouthed down Merlin’s neck.

“So you admit it?” Arthur asked hotly in his ear, this time swiping his tongue along the shell.

Merlin shivered. “Admit what?” he asked, almost slurring his words.

Arthur leaned up on his elbow so he could reach between them, hand grasping Merlin’s cock. He started stroking him as he picked up the pace, pumping into Merlin with deep rhythmic thrusts.

Merlin started to moan in earnest, breaths coming in deep pants.

“You admit…” Arthur said, words punctuated by his own gasping breaths, “this is… better… than a… hostel.”

As he got out the last word, Merlin let out a cry, spilling over Arthur’s fingers. Arthur only managed one more deep thrust before he was coming with a shout, orgasm overtaking him hard and fast. As the last shudder stilled, Arthur collapsed onto Merlin’s body with a muffled grunt. He felt Merlin’s legs unlock from behind him and slide down to the bed.

“You are such a pillock,” Merlin said, chest still heaving under Arthur’s weight.

Arthur’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. He deserved that, he knew. “But I’m right, aren’t I?” He was unable to resist.

He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that Merlin’s own were rolling. “An enormous, giant prat,” Merlin added, sulkily. But Arthur could hear the hint of mirth in his voice.

He raised his head to smile at Merlin. “Yes, but I’m your enormous giant prat,” he said before kissing him sweetly.

-o-

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Merlin said, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight.

Arthur didn’t answer, just continued to unknot his tie and pull it out from under the collar of his shirt. He rolled it up and stored it in the drawer of the bedroom dresser of the apartment they were staying in on the outskirts of Rome.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, his voice full of warning.

Again, Arthur remained silent, hanging up his suit jacket and unbuckling his belt.

“Are you just going to ignore me all night?” Merlin asked, clearly angry.

Arthur turned to face him. “What do you want me to say? I don’t have a choice. I’m sorry. I am. But this was the deal. You knew I’d have to do some work on this trip. Something came up and it can’t be helped.”

“But four days in a row? And now you’re telling me you have to go in tomorrow too?”

“Yes, Merlin. That’s what I’m telling you.”

“And what? I’m supposed to spend yet another day wandering around Rome on my own? At least if we were in a hostel, there’d be other people our age for me to hang out with.”

Arthur slapped his hand on the top of the dresser. The loud smacking sound echoed in the room. “Christ, not this about the bloody hostel again. If you want to stay in a fucking hostel, then go stay in one. I’ll go back to the hotel. At least then I wouldn’t have to spend so much time trying to get to the EUR in the mornings.”

He couldn’t miss the look of hurt on Merlin’s face. God, he was such a prick. Arthur rubbed his face with his hands, trying to calm down. It’s not like he wanted to work any more than Merlin wanted him to. He had no idea how hard a fight it had been with Uther to even come on this trip in the first place. Arthur felt that a little imposition on the tail end of their travels was a small price to pay for getting to spend so many weeks with Merlin.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a sigh. “I didn’t mean that. Of course I don’t want us to spend any time apart. If you want us to stay in the hostel, of course we can do that. I’ll manage. I’m being an arsehole.”

“It’s not about the stupid hostel,” Merlin said, exasperated.

“Then what?” Arthur asked softly. He stepped closer to Merlin. “What can I do to make it right?”

“Are you being purposely dense?” Merlin asked, almost vicious. “You’ve made it perfectly clear you can’t make this right. You’ll be off all day working elsewhere and I’ll be on my own yet again. And our trip’s almost over. And then you’ll be back in London and I’ll be down in Cambridge and who knows when we’ll see each other again.”

Arthur refused to let himself react to Merlin’s tone. He took another step closer and decided to address the last part of Merlin’s accusations, the part he was beginning to suspect underlay the entire argument.

“Merlin,” he started.

But Merlin turned away, his back to Arthur. Arthur stood helplessly, unsure what to do, as if Merlin was a skittish colt who would bolt away at the wrong move.

After a moment, Merlin said, “This was supposed to be _our_ time together.”

“It’s just for a few more days,” Arthur said, trying to reassure him. As soon as the words left his mouth he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

Merlin whirled around, eyes blazing. “A few more days? A few more fucking days? What the hell, Arthur?” He was practically shouting now.

Arthur felt his own frustration bubbling over. Just what was he supposed to do? “Yes, it might be a few more days.”

He tried to continue, but Merlin didn’t let him. “That’s such bullshit. If I had known the holiday portion of the trip was over and you were already heading back to work, I may as well have stayed in San Gimignano.”

Arthur scowled. “That’s a little over-dramatic, don’t you think? At least _try_ to be reasonable about this.”

“Oh, so now my reactions don’t meet your highness’ approval. I shouldn’t be surprised since everything else I arranged didn’t seem to be good enough for you. Fine. Go ahead. Manage my feelings. You may as well since you’ve managed everything else on this trip.”

“What? Now, you’re just being ridiculous.”

“And you’re being a selfish prick.”

Arthur’s rein on his temper loosened. “That’s unfair. You knew this might happen. I was completely upfront with you that I was going to have to do some work on this trip. So you can quit acting like some jilted lover.”

Merlin started to sputter indignantly but Arthur barreled on. “I come back as soon as I can. I’m here every night. I’m doing the best I can. And if you think Cambridge is far enough away from London that you’ll somehow be rid of me, you better fucking think again.” He stopped, glaring at Merlin.

Merlin glared back over a long tense silence until, finally, the corner of his mouth twitched.

“I have not been acting like a jilted lover.”

Arthur’s anger fled and he was flooded with relief. They were going to be okay. “You kind of sort of have,” he said.

“Have not,” Merlin said. His plump lower lip stuck out in a slight pout. Arthur wanted to kiss it.

Deciding to indulge the impulse he closed the distance between them, grabbing Merlin’s hips and pulling him against his body. Merlin went willingly. He nipped at that protruding lip then soothed over it with his tongue before giving Merlin a soft kiss.

“I really am sorry,” Arthur said. “I don’t want to spoil the end of our trip.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Merlin replied. “You’re right. We did talk about this before. I guess I just wasn’t expecting it to be quite so much, especially when I’m going back to uni soon. I think I’m just stressed out about everything changing.”

He should marry this boy, Arthur thought. Maybe they should get engaged. Then Merlin would know Arthur was in this for keeps.

“I’m going to be so busy this term,” Merlin continued. “I’ve got this writing project I’ve been working on and… I don’t know. I think I’m freaking out a little.”

When Merlin was done school, then. He’d wait till Merlin was finished, then he’d propose.

“It’ll be fine. I promise. We dealt with it before. We’ll get through it again. All right?”

“Yeah, all right.”


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

_“The advance of regret can be so gradual that it is impossible to say ‘yesterday I was happy, today I am not.’”  
_ _E.M. Forster, Where Angels Fear to Tread_

* * *

[ _Cambridge University, England – 2 years prior_ ]

“Missed you,” Merlin said into the skin of Arthur’s neck. This was the first visit to Cambridge Arthur had managed in weeks. Since he’d been back in London, Uther had him working non-stop, almost as if he expected Arthur to make up for every moment he’d spent away.

“Missed you too,” Arthur said, holding him close, loving the feel of Merlin’s body pressed against his own, fingers tangling in the wave of his hair, now longer and curling around his ears. “You smell good.”

Merlin laughed. “I smell the same as I always do,” he said.

“I know,” said Arthur, burying his face in Merlin’s hair and taking a deep breath. “Mmmm.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yes, but I’m your idiot.”

  
-o-  


[ _London, England – 2 years prior_ ]

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Morgana said. They were outside Uther’s townhome after Sunday dinner, walking to Morgana’s car.

“I love you too, dearest sister.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you want me to tell you why you’re a fucking idiot?”

“The question should be, can I stop you?”

“I sat at that dinner table and heard you and Uther discuss your plans to fly to Paris for the next few weeks.”

“And? I haven’t been since before Italy. I need to get back up to speed.”

“You need to get back up to Cambridge.”

“That’s not your concern.”

“You weren’t there at all this weekend. Don’t think I don’t know.”

“I had to work late Friday. You know how times zones are. It couldn’t be helped.”

“Then you should have gone yesterday.”

“I had to prepare—” he started to say then cut himself off. “Look, it didn’t work out this weekend. But we’re fine. Merlin’s busy. He understands.”

“As I said, idiot.”

“So, what? I should have driven up this morning, stayed for a few hours, then come back to London for dinner?”

“Yes,” said Morgana emphatically. “Yes, that’s exactly what you should have done.”

Arthur felt a ripple of uneasiness, suspecting she was probably right. “Well, it’s too late now.”

Morgana put her hand on Arthur’s arm and they both stopped. “Arthur, I want you to listen to me.”

He bristled defensively, but didn’t say anything, waiting to hear what she had to say.

“Uther’s expectations are unreasonable.”

“He just wants—”

She shook her head. “No. Listen.”

He quieted.

“You have to set some boundaries with Uther. I know you thought you’d be spending most of your weekends in Cambridge, but that’s not going to happen unless you make it happen. You need to learn to tell Uther no. Don’t go to Paris. Or fly in Monday and come back Friday.”

“It’s already arranged.”

“Well unarrange it.” Her eyes flashed impatiently.

“He’s not expecting anything more from me than he’d expect from himself.”

“Yes, and that’s exactly the problem. Uther is a workaholic. When Ygraine died, he buried himself in the job and now it’s a de facto substitute for actual human relationships.”

“Pendragon Holdings is a huge international company. He needs to—”

“No, Arthur, he doesn’t.” She cut him off again. “He chooses to.”

Arthur jaw tightened. “And what would you know about the company? You rejected it completely. You’re in no position to tell me what I should and shouldn’t be doing about my job. I have responsibilities.”

“You are so unbelievably pig-headed. I’m in a position to tell you what to do because you’re my brother and I love you. And I’m telling you you’re going to lose that boy if you’re not careful.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “I hope you’re right.”

-o-

 

[ _Cambridge University, England, 1 year prior_ ]

“Arthur?” Merlin muttered, rumpled and groggy.

“Shh,” Arthur whispered as he slipped under the sheets next to Merlin, pulling him close and draping his arm around his waist, kissing the nape of Merlin’s neck.

“Time is it?”

“It’s late. Go back to sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”

“Kay.” Merlin shifted, fitting himself more comfortably against Arthur. Moments later, his breathing changed, even and deep.

  
-o-

  
“Paris again? How long this time?”

“Probably a couple of weeks,” Arthur said over the phone. He was met with silence. “Merlin? Are you still there?”

A heavy sigh came over the line. “I’m still here.”

“I’m sorry. Something came up. You know I’d rather be there with you. I miss you every day.”

“Yeah, I miss you too,” his voice sounded a little broken. “Look, I’m running late for something. I’ll call you later, okay?”

Before he could even reply, Merlin disconnected, but not before Arthur thought he heard a sniffle on the other end. Fuck, Arthur thought. Fuck, fuck, fuck.  


-o-

“I got the flowers,” Merlin said. “Thank you.”

“I just wanted you to know I was thinking of you,” Arthur said, calling from Paris. “I’m always thinking of you,” he added with a small laugh.

“Yeah.”

They were both silent for longer than was typical. Arthur cleared his throat.

“So about next weekend…”

“You’re still coming, aren’t you?”

Arthur closed his eyes, pressing his fingers against his forehead. He couldn’t answer.

“You’re not, are you?” Merlin sounded bitter, maybe a little resigned. Arthur wished he could see his face.

“I want to, but—”

“Let me guess,” Merlin said, interrupting. “Something came up.”

“I’m sorry. I want to be there. I do.”

“Apparently not enough.”

“That’s not fair. I’m doing the best I can. Father wants me in Germany next week. I have a lot of catching up to do after taking so much time off to go to Italy with you.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now? Is that it?”

“What? No. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Whatever.”

“Come on, Merlin. Don’t be like that.”

“Like what? Angry? Too fucking bad. I’ve barely seen you this term, Arthur. You promised. You said this term would be better than last term. But it’s not, is it? This is just the way it’s going to be from now on, isn’t it?”

“Merlin…” But he didn’t know what he could say to make the situation any better. It couldn’t be helped right now. So he said again the only thing he could say. “I’m sorry.”

-o-

When Uther wanted Arthur to travel to Austria from Germany, Arthur put his foot down.

“No. I haven’t seen Merlin in a month. I need to be back in England and I need some time off from work.”

“Your old university flatmate?” Uther asked. “I didn’t realise you were still seeing him.”

“Yes, Father. I’m still seeing him. He’s my boyfriend.” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice.

“No need to snap at me, Arthur. I’m a reasonable man. Take some time if you need it. Of course you should. You’ve been working very hard and I’m pleased with how dedicated you’ve been.”

Mollified and unused to receiving a direct compliment from Uther, Arthur softened at the unexpected praise. “Thank you, Father.”

“Not at all.”

-o-  


Merlin clung to Arthur, naked and sated and sweaty.

“We should take a shower,” Arthur said after they caught their breath.

“Not yet. Just… stay here for a while.”

“Yeah, okay.” He pulled Merlin closer, wrapping his arms around him and tucking his face into his neck. “This is nice.”

“Mmm,” Merlin hummed. They lay quietly for a while, fingers gently brushing skin, lips pressing soft kisses. “Can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow.”

“I know. Wish I didn’t have to go.”

“Then don’t. Stay longer.”

“You know I can’t.”

“I wish it hadn’t been the end of term. I feel like I barely got to see you with all the work I had.”

“I didn’t mind. I liked watching you work, making sure you eat. I like taking care of you. And I loved having you in my bed again. I always sleep better with you.”

“Technically, you were in my bed.”

“Fine, your bed. Doesn’t matter to me whose it is as long as you’re in it.”

He could feel Merlin smile against his skin.

“Maybe you can come to London during the break,” Arthur suggested after a few moments.

“Can’t. Promised Uncle Gaius I’d be home.”

“Oh.” He paused, thoughtful. “Maybe I could visit you in Wales.”

Merlin leaned up on his elbow to look Arthur in the eye, a tentative smile on his face. “Yeah? I thought you had to go to Austria.”

“Not for your entire break. I should be able to get away. If you think Hunith can put up with me.”

“My mum adores you, as you bloody well know.”

“Then it’s settled.”

“Yeah?” Merlin asked.

“Yes.”

 -o-

Merlin stood in the kitchen of this mother’s house, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight. Hunith had stepped out on some flimsy excuse as soon as she realised the level of tension in the room. Merlin’s lips were pressed in a thin line. “I can’t believe you waited until you were here before you told me,” he snapped.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. He knew the decision had been cowardly, but he’d been half afraid Merlin would have told him not to come. “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”

“So I guess you thought you could manage me better in person. Is that it?”

“Merlin,” he said softly, pained, reaching out.

“No,” Merlin said, backing away. “No, you don’t get to do this. Don’t try to placate me. You can’t just make decisions unilaterally and expect me to be okay with them all the time.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to be okay. I knew you’d be angry.”

“Of course I’m fucking angry. I was counting on this time with you. And yet here we are. Again.”

“A weekend is better than nothing, isn’t it? I’m here, aren’t I, even if I can’t stay as long as we planned?”

“Is it? Is it better?”

And there it was. A chill pierced Arthur’s chest. “Yes. Of course it’s better. God. Of course it is.” He could hear his own desperation.

“I’m not even sure anymore,” Merlin said and now he didn’t look angry so much as devastated.

Arthur felt as if the ground was tilting beneath him. He searched frantically for a way to regain his footing. “We’ve gotten by on less than this. Remember your gap year? Everything was fine. We were fine.”

“But I knew Italy was at the end of it. I had that to look forward to. I knew what was waiting.”

“I’m waiting. I’m at the end of it. We’re at the end of it. We knew it’d be difficult once you were back in Cambridge. But it’s not forever.”

“I didn’t know it’d be this difficult.” Arthur could see the moisture pooling in Merlin’s eyes.

“Merlin,” he tried again, taking a cautious step towards him. This time Merlin didn’t shy away. He swiped at his eyes with his hand and Arthur grabbed it before it returned to its defensive position across his body. He tugged, pulling Merlin close and wrapped his other arm around his back. “I’m not trying to placate you right now,” he whispered. “I missed you. I just want to hold you.” Merlin let him. “You mean the world to me,” he continued. “I can’t stand that I’ve made you this unhappy.”

Merlin buried his face against Arthur’s shoulder. “You don’t know how hard it’s been,” he finally said.

“I think I have some idea.”

And now Merlin looked up and stepped back a little. “No, you don’t. You’re not the one left waiting, wondering if this time you’re actually going to show up. I count on those visits. And then when you don’t come…it’s just too hard.”

Arthur’s heart broke a little at the crack in Merlin’s voice, the anguish on his face. He gathered him close again. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I promise. I’ll do better,” he murmured in his ear.

-o-

Arthur stared at his mobile, stomach twisting with dread. He recalled how tightly Merlin had clung to him the last time they parted, how almost desperate he had seemed. And he had promised. He had held Merlin close and promised.

After a long agonizing moment of indecision, he made the only choice he could. He dialed the airline and rescheduled his flight. He’d deal with Uther later.

-o-  


“Arthur,” Merlin said when he opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah. Yes, of course.”

Arthur kissed him once they were both inside, trying to grab onto a little happiness before the inevitable anger erupted once he’d said what he’d come to say. He didn’t see the point in putting it off. “I’m really sorry, but I can’t be here this weekend.”

“Oh.” Merlin’s face registered disappointment, but also a calm acceptance, almost as if he’d anticipated the news. Arthur wasn’t sure if this was worse than the anger he’d expected.

He’d argued and argued with Uther, but after his recent stunt, as Uther had characterized his last-minute flight change a few weeks ago, Arthur felt as if he had to give in. He had a responsibility to the business, after all; Uther had no trouble reminding him of that.

“Well, thanks for coming to tell me in person, I guess.”

“Merlin…” Arthur searched his face for something besides that eerie calm.

“How long can you stay?”

“Just for tonight. I’ll have to get up early to make it back to London in the morning.”

“All right. I have some work I need to get done.”

“That’s fine.” Merlin raised an eyebrow. Arthur was thrown by his cool appraisal. Maybe he should have called. “I mean, I don’t want to get in your way. I only wanted to see you before I have to leave the country again.”

They ordered in, and Arthur busied himself on his phone while Merlin spent the evening writing on his laptop. They’d spent countless nights like this in the past, silently working together on the sofa, but tonight felt different, as if an unbridgeable gap lay between them, even as Merlin’s toes were tucked firmly under Arthur’s thighs.

But when they were in bed that night, Merlin was hot and needy, as responsive as always to Arthur’s touch, gasping into his skin, writhing under his hands, slick opening greedy for Arthur’s cock as Arthur thrust in deep.

Afterwards, as they lay exhausted on the bed, Merlin’s back to Arthur’s chest, Arthur felt his body tremble, shoulders shaking with small tremors, heard soft gasping breaths being muffled into a pillow. He gently turned Merlin over, chest seizing at the traces of wetness down Merlin’s cheeks. Arthur rained kisses on Merlin’s face, trying to chase the tears away. “What’s wrong?” he whispered. Merlin didn’t answer, just shook his head and kept his eyes closed. “Shh, shh. Please don’t cry,” entreated Arthur, continuing to press soft kisses all over his face. “I love you. I love you more than anything.”

When the alarm on his phone beeped at half past four in the morning, Arthur slid out of bed, trying not to wake Merlin. He dressed quietly in the semi-darkness, heart heavy. He sat on the edge of the bed, starting down at Merlin’s pale cheek, his dark hair. He gently threaded his hand through the silky strands, loath to leave, and watched the curls twine around his fingers, as if trying to trap and keep him there. With a heavy sigh, he removed his fingers and leaned over to kiss Merlin’s forehead goodbye. He paused at the doorway for one last look, memorizing the curve of his shoulder, the delicate turn of his wrist. Reluctantly, he exited the bedroom, made the walk to his car, and tried to ignore the heaviness in his chest which increased with each additional kilometer he put between them.

-o-  
 

“I don’t want you to come.”

“What? You can’t mean that.”

“I do mean it.”

“Merlin.” Arthur was stunned. “I came home early. I cut it as short as I could.”

“I can’t do this anymore,” Merlin choked out.

Ice ran through Arthur’s veins. “What do you mean?” His heart was racing.

“I’ve told you. It’s too hard.”

“This is all temporary.”

“But it’s not.”

“Of course it is. You won’t be in school forever.”

“I’ve got another full year. Maybe more if I continue on for my doctorate. And after that, then what? I move to London and then you’d still always be flying off somewhere?”

“You could come with.”

Merlin laughed bitterly. “I’m sure my employer would love that.”

Arthur was wise enough not to suggest he needn’t work if he didn’t want to. He paused, trying to tamp down the rising panic. “Let’s put aside these future hypotheticals. Let’s focus on right now.”

“I’m talking about right now.” Merlin’s voice had risen in pitch and gotten louder.

“All right. And I can be there right now, a few hours. I can leave the second we hang up the phone.”

“You’re not listening to me.”

Arthur started pacing. He gripped a handful of hair with the one not holding his mobile. “I am listening. Tell me what I can do to fix this. I can talk to Father. I’ll tell him no international travel for the next year, at least till you’re through your masters. I’ll—”

“Arthur,” Merlin interrupted, shouting. Arthur stopped speaking. He stilled, breathing shallow. He closed his eyes, not sure he could bear what would come next out of Merlin’s mouth. Merlin’s voice was softer when he spoke again, though Arthur could hear the strain underlying every word. “I’ve told you over and over how hard this has been for me.”

“I know,” whispered Arthur.

“I can’t stand the thought of going through another year of this.”

“Then you won’t. I’ll fix it. We’ll figure something out.”

“It’s too late for that.”

Arthur’s throat was tight. He blinked rapidly against the onset of tears. “Merlin, don’t do this,” he begged.

“I’m sorry.” Merlin whispered. “It is too late. I’m done.” Arthur could tell he’d begun to cry. Unable to speak, Arthur was frozen in shock. This couldn’t be happening. “I have to go,” said Merlin. “Goodbye, Arthur.”

When he heard Merlin disconnect, Arthur’s arm fell to his side. The phone slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor. He stood staring into space, disbelieving. Pain bloomed in his chest, sharp and severe, as if he’d been skewered through the heart with a broadsword.


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

_“It isn’t possible to love and to part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you. I know from experience that the poets are right: love is eternal.”_   
_E.M. Forster, A Room with a View_

* * *

_  
_ [ _Rome, Italy – current day_ ]

Arthur and Morgana had set aside two days to tour the Vatican. For their visit to St. Peter’s Basilica, they booked a private tour with an early start, allowing them entrance a full hour before the doors were open to the general public. On Friday evening, they would see the Vatican Museums and the Sistine Chapel. Arthur had arranged another private tour, this time with a buffet aperitif served in the Courtyard of the Pine Cone prior to the start. Paying for a more exclusive experience was worth it to avoid the long lines and massive crowds.

The tour of the Basilica was magnificent. In addition to the church itself, they were also given a private tour of the Vatican’s Mosaic Studio, the workshop where talented artisans restored and maintained its many mosaics. From the studio, Arthur and Morgana took the lift to Michelangelo’s cupola, the famous signature dome of the eternal city. After climbing the winding stone staircase, progressively more and more narrow, they reached the top and were graced with yet another awe-inspiring view of Rome, the Piazza San Pietro visible far below.

“Wow,” said Morgana. “Again. worth the climb, although I’m glad I don’t suffer from claustrophobia. I’m certainly getting my workouts in this week.”

Arthur nodded absently, lost in thought, gaze focused on the panoramic scene before him.

“Are you okay?” Morgana asked, studying him closely.

Arthur looked over with a quick smile. “I’m fine.”

“Hmm,” she replied, obviously not believing him, but he was grateful when she didn’t press.

They spent several more hours exploring the enormous structure, seeing the Scavi, the Necropolis underneath the Basilica, then the Vatican Grottoes with its papal crypts. They viewed Michelangelo’s _Pieta_ , the haunting statue of Mary cradling the body of her lifeless Son, listening as the guide explain how the artist was not yet 25 when he sculpted the piece from a single block of white Carrara marble. They toured St. Peter’s Treasury, full of ornaments and papal mitres and other priceless objects of art. And they investigated the many monuments and chapels, the apse and the nave.

Just as they were considering leaving—they were both ready for a bite to eat—the doors to the Cappella del Coro opened and a newlywed couple emerged, radiant smiles shining on their faces. Morgana and Arthur watched them make their way inside the Basilica proper, the crowds giving them room to pose for a series of photographs.

“I’d heard couples could marry in one of the chapels here,” Morgana commented. “Quite a romantic setting for a destination wedding. Although I’d assume you’d have to be Catholic.”

“Probably,” agreed Arthur.

“I wonder what sorts of hoops they have to jump through. I’d imagine it’d be a lot like marrying at King’s Chapel, don’t you think? Didn’t Gwen have to apply to the Archbishop for a special license?”

“I believe so.” Arthur could barely get the words out. He had frozen at the mention of Gwen’s wedding. And now he felt short of breath, chest tight. “It’s gotten quite hot in here, hasn’t it?” he said. “I think I need some air.” He turned, not waiting for Morgana to reply and hurried to the exit. Once outside, he leaned over, head down, bracing his hands on his knees, and took long slow breaths. The severity of his reaction startled him. Time passing had obviously not eased the pain in his heart. Would he always ache this deeply?

He sensed a figure moving closer then felt Morgana’s hand on his back.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “Are you going to be sick?”

He straightened and turned to her with a tight smile. “I’m fine. I think I just need something to eat. We’ve been here for hours.”

The concern didn’t leave her eyes, but she nodded in acquiescence. “You probably need some water too. I could use a bottle myself.”

Arthur felt relief that she seemed to be accepting his explanation. Or, at the very least, pretending to.

-o-  


[ _London, England – 1 year prior_ ]

Arthur pushed open the door to the café and saw Gwen at a table near the back, already waiting. She smiled and waved when she saw him. He walked through the room, leaning over to kiss her cheek before sitting across from her.

“I’m not late, am I?”

“No. I was early. I was too excited, I think.”

“Guinevere, such flattery. I blush.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course, it’s lovely to see you, as always, dear Arthur.”

They were interrupted by the server who took their drink orders. Once he had left, Arthur returned his attention to Gwen, grinning. “So tell me then. What’s your big news?”

“I’m getting married!” Her voice rose almost to a squeak as the words came out. She added a little happy scream, before extending her left hand across the table, shaking it in front of his face, showing off the sparkling ring on her finger.

“Wow. Congratulations,” he said, admiring her ring. “I had no idea you’d gotten so serious.”

“I know. It’s crazy, isn’t it?” She’d drawn her am back and was staring at her own finger now, as if she could hardly believe it herself. “But when it’s right, you just know it.”

Arthur smiled, bittersweet. He was happy for her; of course he was. She was glowing, so obviously in love. Yet he couldn’t help feel sorry for himself, having known such happiness, only to have it slip from his grasp. What he said, however, was “I want to hear all about it.”

Gwen regaled him with the story of their whirlwind courtship, details about her fiancé, Lance, his good looks, fine character and romantic streak, plus how he’d proposed. “He got down on one knee and everything,” she said with a soft smile.

“He sounds like a proper gentleman.”

“He really is. We don’t want a long engagement,” she added. “I’d marry him tomorrow if I could. But he’s got a large family and about a million sisters. They kill us if we eloped.” She gave an indulgent laugh.

“So when’s the date?” he asked. “Have you got one yet?”

“Yes. Later this summer. We’re getting married in King’s Chapel. I’d like to be married before the start of term.”

“That is soon. I hope I’m invited.”

“Yes, you’re invited,” she said with a laugh. “That’s actually why I wanted to see you today.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I’m hoping you’ll agree to be in my wedding party.”

“Of course I will. I’m honoured,” Arthur said with heartfelt sincerity. “What colour is my dress?”

“You’re such an idiot,” she said fondly.

He smiled at her softly, reaching across the table to take her hand, warm and familiar. “I’m really happy for you,” he said. “Just let me know what you need. I’ll help any way I can.”

“Thank you. There’s just one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

She hesitated, glancing away and fiddling with her napkin. Then she met his eyes and spoke. “I’ve asked Merlin as well. Mithian’s going to be my maid of honour, but Merlin’s also going to be an usher, along with my brother Elyan. Are you all right with that?”

Arthur tamped down his reaction to hearing Merlin’s name, determined not to let the sudden tumult coursing through him show. He could deal with his emotions on his own later, preferably after a glass of whiskey and in the privacy of his own home. He didn’t need to sour Gwen’s buoyant mood. “That’s fine,” he said. “Of course you should have Merlin there. We’re all adults, aren’t we? Neither of us would dream of spoiling your day.”

Her joyful smile was almost enough to make him temporarily forget his heartache.

-o-

The day of Gwen and Lance’s wedding was beautiful. The afternoon was bright, the sky a brilliant blue with a smattering of white puffy clouds. Even more gorgeous was Gwen, her smile outshining the sun itself. Arthur stood at the altar of King’s Chapel with Elyan, Merlin, and Mithian, with Lance’s sisters across from them, as Gwen was escorted down the aisle. Her father lifted her veil to kiss her cheek and then she turned to her groom, beaming, a vision in white against the backdrop of Rubens’ _The Adoration of the Magi_ and the soaring panes of stained glass.

Being back at King’s College had felt almost surreal to Arthur, full of incessant reminders of happier times. And being around Merlin had been brutal, their every interaction stilted and polite, both of them doing their best to remain civil for Gwen’s sake. He’d made it through the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner. He’d made it through the stag night with Lance, which turned out to be simply drinks at a pub. Lance had no interest in wilder events and his friends happily obliged. They’d dressed in one of the larger suites at King’s, and Arthur did his best to avert his eyes as Merlin appeared in various stages of undress.

He knew many of the guests had chosen to book rooms overnight at the college. They were available to the public between terms. Arthur didn’t think he could handle sleeping where his and Merlin’s prior relationship had blossomed and had reserved a room at the nearby Hilton, a short walk away. He didn’t even consider staying at the house on Little Saint Mary, the place where he and Merlin had once called home.

And now they were stood shoulder to shoulder, the heat from Merlin’s body warming his own. He tried to focus on the ceremony, the readings, the stunning notes of the college’s famous choir, and the exchanging of vows, but he was hyper-aware of Merlin’s closeness, at once an excruciating torture and a welcome balm.

The pictures after the ceremony were more of the same, a blessing and a curse. The guests had exited to the back lawn for Buck’s fizz while the photographer took advantage of the spectacular architecture and magnificent setting. Arthur smiled through the photos of the wedding party, as he was arranged next to Merlin again and again, determined not to let his riotous emotions at the forced proximity show. He gazed up at the elaborate fan vault ceiling, the largest of its kind, thinking back on the day he’d first seen Gwen in this very chapel and the years of friendship in between. “We both deserve better,” she’d told him long ago. She’d been right, of course. And now she’d found her soul mate, a good man who adored her, from what Arthur observed.

He tried not to think about the calamitous outcome of his own passionate love affair.

After interior shots, they were herded down the Cam where punts awaited the wedding party. Arthur was dismayed to find he and Merlin had been paired off in one of the wooden boats with Mithian seated behind.

“Gwen wants her old classmates all together and family in the others,” the photographer explained.

“You sit up front with Arthur,” Merlin suggested to Mithian, not looking in Arthur’s direction.

“No thanks. I’m fine,” she had retorted. “I’ve got more room to keep my dress uncreased back here.”

Merlin had reluctantly sat down on the bench next to Arthur, again shoulder to shoulder and now thigh against thigh. The guests had followed them down to the water and stood alongside the river, throwing flower petals as the bride and groom glided past. When the wedding party coasted past the tree where Arthur and Merlin first met, Arthur had to look away, lest the expression on his face betray him. Merlin remained rigidly silent throughout.

Merlin practically leapt from the boat once they’d returned to land. Arthur was left staring at his back as he hurried to the Hall for the reception dinner. He waited, taking Mithian’s hand to help her from the punt. She smiled gently, her eyes full of sympathy, but he had to clear his throat and look away. He could tell she wanted to speak about what had just transpired, but he was determined to avoid that particular conversation. What was there to say, after all?

Dinner was a welcome reprieve. Even though Arthur was inundated with memories simply by being in the Hall itself, someone had taken pity on them and rearranged the place cards so that Elyan was now sitting between him and Merlin. He maybe drank a little too much and laughed a little too loudly at the various speeches, but wasn’t that better than sulking or succumbing to an acrid mood?

Once the music started and the dancing began, Arthur’s tension eased. He mingled, catching up with other classmates, many of their uni gang being in attendance. If it hadn’t been for the persistent hole in his chest, it would almost seem like old times. He laughed and talked and danced and flirted, all the while ever-aware of Merlin’s presence, no matter where in the large room he was located.

“You’ve still got it bad, I see,” Gwaine said to him when he was caught with his attention wandering one too many times.

Arthur scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t.” Gwaine drained glass in front of him. “If you ask me, I think you’ve still got a chance,” he added.

Arthur’s head whipped around to stare at Gwaine. “What?”

He shrugged. “It’s just you’re not the only one who can’t keep his eyes off someone.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed at Gwaine before his gaze was drawn back to Merlin where he stood against the wall, laughing with Elena. He never once looked in Arthur’s direction.

“What sort of trouble are you two getting up to?” asked a voice behind them. Arthur turned and saw Gwen. He gave her a kiss.

“You’re a beautiful bride,” he said. “The wedding was perfect.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Her smile contained all her joy.

“Lance seems like an upright fellow,” Gwaine chimed in. “If you ever need someone to give him a talking-to, make sure he treats you right, just let me know.”

“I don’t have any worries on that account. But thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She gave a small roll of her eyes, letting him know how silly she thought he was being. “I’ve actually come here to steal Arthur away.”

“You have, have you?” Arthur asked.

“Yes. The bride requests your presence on the dance floor.”

“It would be my pleasure,” he said gallantly, offering his arm. Once they were swaying together, her hand on his shoulder, his at her waist, their other hands clasped together, he repeated his earlier statement. “You really do look beautiful. I’m glad you’re so happy.”

“I am,” she said, her brown eyes smiling. Her gaze travelled to their left where Lance was watching them from a table at the edge of the dancers, a besotted expression on his face.

“He doesn’t mind that you’re still close with your ex?”

“No, of course not.” She paused, “Speaking of exes…”

He stumbled. “Sorry.” His heart pounded as he regained his footing.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up like that.” She sounded distraught.

Arthur sighed. “It’s all right.” They danced quietly for a few minutes.

“I have a confession,” she said, breaking the silence.

“Oh?”

“Yes. Maybe it’s foolish. I’m probably being a cliché. But I’m so happy, I want everyone around me to be happy too. I had hoped that you and Merlin might reconnect tonight. You’re unhappy. He’s unhappy. Couldn’t you at least talk to each other?”

Arthur sighed again. “I don’t think he really wants to talk to me.”

A slight frown appeared on her brow. “But how do you know unless you at least try?”

Arthur spun her around to the music, footing once again sure. As the song ended, they stilled and Arthur looked down into Gwen’s hopeful face. He never was able to deny her anything. “I’ll think about it,” he said. She answered with a glowing smile.

As the night wore on, Arthur planted himself at a corner table, not so far away as to appear antisocial, but definitely apart from the more exuberant groups. A steady stream of friends stopped by to chat, so he was rarely alone for long. But when he was, his eyes followed Merlin everywhere, admiring the cut of his trousers, jacket long since abandoned, the slight curl of his hair over his ears. He’d caught Merlin’s eye more than once, and although Merlin quickly looked away the first time it happened, the second and third he stared back in return. Arthur couldn’t get a read on his expression.

The bottle of champagne he’d been nursing for the past hour was almost gone and he still hadn’t made any sort of decision about Gwen’s suggestion. Another slow song was playing and the lady in question was dancing with Merlin, gently swaying, heads bent in low conversation. “Fuck it,” he murmured under his breath, getting to his feet. He strode across the room and onto the dance floor. “May I cut in?” he asked.

Gwen and Merlin broke apart. “Oh, of course,” Merlin said, backing away from Gwen.

“I don’t think he means me,” Gwen corrected, giving Merlin a smile and whispering “good luck” to Arthur as she exited the dance floor.

Merlin stared at him, eyes wide. “What are you doing?” he asked, his tone as chill as an icicle.

“Attempting to dance with you,” Arthur replied, determined not to lose his nerve.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, clipped and sharp. “Don’t.” His eyes darted around nervously, as if looking for a route to escape.

“Merlin,” Arthur pleaded. “Please. Just dance with me.” He knew he sounded desperate, but he didn’t care. His arms ached to hold Merlin, even if in the middle of a crowded room, the immediate vicinity cool as an arctic blast. “Please,” he repeated, filling the word with love and longing, exposing himself completely, praying Merlin wouldn’t say no.

The relief that flowed through him as Merlin acceded and stepped closer, putting a hand to Arthur’s shoulder, was overwhelming. He didn’t even care if Merlin was simply trying not to create a scene, not when he was this close, the familiar scent inundating Arthur’s senses. He filled his lungs deeply, eyes closing, breath leaving him on a sigh. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered, almost afraid to speak out loud, as if with one wrong word the spell would be broken or he’d wake up, sad and aching, to find himself alone in bed.

“I’ve missed you too,” Merlin whispered back. And Arthur couldn’t stop his arms from tightening, pulling Merlin closer still, thighs slotting together, arms strong around his waist. They rocked and swayed together and Arthur hoped the music would never end. One song merged into another and neither of them made the move to break apart. After initially holding himself stiffly, Merlin had at some point relaxed against him and now his hands tentatively moved over Arthur’s shoulders, fingers lightly brushing against the back of his neck. Arthur was afraid to breathe, but he slowly allowed his own hands to explore the familiar planes of Merlin’s back. He felt like he was in a drug-induced dream, each small movement magnified a thousand times over, sending electric pulses through his entire body.

By the end of the third song they were barely moving, locked in a tight embrace. Arthur withdrew his face from where his cheek was pressed against Merlin’s hair and pulled back to look in his eyes, searching. Seeing caution and still some wariness, Arthur paused in his intent. But when Merlin’s eyes darted down to Arthur’s mouth, tongue peeking out from between his lips, Arthur leaned closer, pressing his lips gently to Merlin’s own.

At the touch of his mouth, Arthur let out a strangled whimper, hands clutching the shirt at Merlin back. He thought he’d never have this taste again, could barely believe this was happening, that Merlin was letting him, the actuality of the kiss more powerful than any memory he’d replayed in the months since they’d last parted. Merlin was the one who deepened the kiss, tangling their tongues together, moaning low into Arthur’s mouth. Arthur shifted to get even closer, trembling when his thigh pressed against Merlin’s half-hard cock.

“Come back to my hotel with me,” he said after sliding his mouth to Merlin’s ear. “Please.” He shifted his hips, letting Merlin feel the press of his own cock in return.

He half-expected Merlin to say no, to come to his senses and push Arthur away. But his entire body burned hot when the voice in his ear answered breathily, “Yeah, okay. Yeah.”

He didn’t wait for Merlin to change his mind, just squeezed him tightly, before releasing him and taking his hand, leading him off the dance floor. They gathered their jackets, not even stopping to say goodbye, then they slipped from the Hall, heading to the Hilton Hotel.

Arthur led the way and Merlin followed. They didn’t speak during the short walk. They rode the lift silently and it was only when they were inside the hotel room that Arthur spoke. “I suppose we should talk?”               

Merlin turned to face him, gaze intense. “We can talk later,” he said before crowding up against Arthur and kissing him. At the touch of their lips, the simmering heat kindled on the dance floor burst into a conflagration. Their mouths were hungry, opening immediately to each other, the kisses wet and deep. The taste of Merlin was tantalizing, achingly familiar, and Arthur wanted to devour every inch of him. He moved to mouth at his jaw, then down to his neck, sucking and biting, wringing gasps and cries from Merlin’s throat. His hands, at first too overwhelmed to do little more than hold Merlin close, now roamed his body, pushing the jacket down his shoulders and searching for the buttons on his shirt.

Arthur heard his own sound of protest echoing in the room when Merlin pulled away. But he was only freeing his elbows from his suit jacket, throwing it over the back of a chair, his fingers continuing the work Arthur had begun on the front of his shirt. Arthur wasted no time, following his lead, removing his own jacket and shirt, then his trousers, till he was stripped down to his boxers.

Merlin eyed him hungrily, now likewise undressed. He returned to kissing Arthur, hands on his shoulders, manoeuvring him so he could walk him backwards towards the bed, pushing him until the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress. With one small shove, Arthur legs buckled and he landed with a bounce. And then Merlin was clambering into his lap, grinding his hips down.

Arthur groaned, trying to touch Merlin everywhere, overcome with the feel of skin on skin, the bulge of Merlin’s cock. When his hands slipped down Merlin’s back and slid under the waistband of his boxers, cupping Merlin’s arse, Merlin bucked against him and Arthur rocked up in response, gasping at the hardness pressed against his own.

“Take these off,” he commanded, trying to remove the boxers from Merlin’s hips. Merlin tried to slide them off without moving from Arthur’s lap, and they struggled, clumsy and awkward, until the both fell backwards, then on their sides, squirming to rid themselves of the last of their remaining clothes. Merlin, in his haste, became tangled in his, and he laughed softly, before finally getting free.

At the sound, Arthur drew in his breath. His heart clenched. He stared at Merlin, frozen, as if now only realising they were really here, naked and together. This wasn’t a dream. He swallowed, gaze roaming over Merlin’s face, drinking in his shining eyes, the small smile on his red swollen lips. Arthur reached out, gently running his fingertip across Merlin’s cheek. He could feel the slight tremor in his hand, but was unable to steady it, the onslaught of emotions buffeting through him like a hurricane.

“Merlin,” he whispered, voice cracking over the name. He shut his eyes, unable to bear all he was feeling. He wanted to bury his face in Merlin’s chest, cry out all the pain of their long separation. He wanted to touch him everywhere, to fuck him and to be fucked, to be utterly consumed by him. He wanted to cradle him in his arms and dust kisses over his cheeks, run his fingers through his silken hair and never ever let him go.

Then Merlin’s lips were on his again. He rolled on top or Arthur, settling his legs between Arthur’s thighs. Arthur kept his eyes shut as they moved together, the fire consuming him again until he was leaking and trembling, ready to combust. “Fuck me,” he begged, almost delirious with need. He opened his legs wide, pushing up against Merlin’s cock. “Want you to fuck me. Please, fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Merlin panted, shifting to rest his forehead against Arthur’s chest. “Yeah, okay.” Arthur whined at his words, a full body shiver running across his skin. “Do you have any stuff?”

Arthur groaned in frustration. “No. Wasn’t expecting…” he didn’t finish the thought. He took a breath, trying to clear his lust-addled mind. Then he remembered he was using his old leather toiletry bag, the one he’d carried for years. “Wait. There might be some lube in my bag in the bathroom. No idea how old it is though.”

“Stay there,” Merlin directed, hurrying off the bed. He came back momentarily, a small bottle held triumphantly in his hand. “Didn’t see any condoms in there,” he said, giving Arthur a searching look.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, unsure how Merlin would take what he was about to say. “I… haven’t been with anyone since you.” He watched Merlin’s reaction intently and hoped the expression he saw was relief.

Merlin took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay,” he said as if to himself. Then to Arthur he said, “Same here.”

He could read into that, couldn’t he? Merlin was here with him, as seemingly eager to be together with him as he was to be with Merlin. And neither of them had moved on to someone new. Suddenly, the ache of not touching Merlin when he was steps away was almost too much to bear. Arthur rolled over to his stomach on the bed and spread his legs. “Come on, then,” he urged. “Fuck me.”

He felt the dip of the bed as Merlin knelt on the mattress, heard the click of the cap on the bottle of lube. Then Merlin’s hands were on the back of his thighs, parting them more, his slicked up fingers at his hole. Arthur’s head swam as Merlin’s long agile fingers worked him open. Before long, he was panting and trembling, his leaking cock soaking a wet spot into the sheets. “I’m ready,” he gasped. “Need your cock.” He widened his legs even more, rocking back on his knees to present himself more fully to Merlin, not caring how wanton and greedy he looked.

When Merlin placed his hands on his hips, it wasn’t to hold him steady while he entered. Instead, he tugged Arthur sideways, saying, “Turn over. On your back, okay?” Then they were face to face, Merlin pushing Arthur’s knee up towards his chest as his cock rested against his slick hole. Arthur struggled to keep his eyes on Merlin’s face as his body was breached and Merlin pushed forward. Soft cries left his mouth and his eyelids fluttered closed as he was overtaken by the sensation of Merlin stretching him open, of Merlin inside his body, hot and full and deep.

Merlin wasn’t tender. His thrusts were powerful and sure. The muscles in his backside rippled beneath Arthur’s searching hands, as he clung tight, fingers digging into skin. He opened his eyes to see Merlin staring down at him, pupils dark and intense. Arthur couldn’t tear his gaze away, wanted that look to mean too many things. Then Merlin’s hand was between them, gripping Arthur’s cock, stroking him in time to his rocking hips, forcing grunts and moans from Arthur’s lips. “Merlin,” he panted, feeling the orgasm building hard and quick. “I—” he began to say. Then Merlin was stopping his words with his lips, swallowing his cries as his climax rolled through him and he came over Merlin’s fist.

Merlin’s hips hadn’t stopped their forceful movements and he fucked Arthur through his release. He buried his face into Arthur’s shoulder, giving several hard short jerks and he was gasping his own cries into the air, body trembling before collapsing in a heap.

After a few moments, he pulled out slowly and rolled off Arthur, landing flat on his back against Arthur’s side. Arthur turned into him, pulling his close, placing soft appreciative kisses anywhere he could reach.

“I’ll get up in a minute,” Merlin slurred, as if he barely had the energy to speak. “Should clean up before we fall asleep.” But he didn’t move and let Arthur kiss him, absently threading his fingers through Arthur’s hair. Eventually, he stilled and Arthur considered briefly whether he should get out of bed, but he was too content to be back in Merlin’s arms to move. He reached over to switch of the light on the bedside table and within minutes, he too succumbed to sleep.

The buzzing of his phone roused Arthur. He blinked open his eyes, trying to orient himself. He felt the press of Merlin’s warm body against his side and was filled with a rush of affection and love. He hadn’t dared dream he and Merlin might reconcile at the wedding, but his heart was full of hopeful possibilities. He kissed the knob of Merlin’s spine at the base of his neck and was about to curl up around him to go back to sleep when his phone buzzed again. Sighing, he slid out of bed, searching for his trousers in the dim light of the room. He pulled out his phone and saw the call was from Uther.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He stumbled to the bathroom, closing the door and turning on the light before answering.

“Father?”

“Arthur,” Uther said, impatient. “I’ve been calling and calling. Where are you?”

Arthur frowned, checking the time and seeing the several missed calls. “It’s 4:00 a.m.” he said. “I’m in Cambridge for Gwen’s wedding.”

“Oh, that’s right. It’s early afternoon here in Hong Kong.”

“What’s wrong? It’s not Morgana is it?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s the Godwyn deal. I’ve just received word he’s pulling out.”

“What? How did that happen? Everything’s settled. We ironed out the last of the negotiations days ago. Signing was supposed to happen early next week.” They’d been working on this deal for months and the news was a shock.

“Cenred,” He spat the name like a curse. “He’s been trying to sour this deal from the start. And with me in Hong Kong and you away from London, he took his chance.”

“What can I do?”

“I need you to return to London immediately and set up a meeting with Godwyn and get him back on board. Don’t take no for an answer. You need to get to him before he signs with Cenred. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how much depends on this.”

A lot did depend on this, Arthur knew. Hundreds of people would be put out of work if Godwyn withdrew. “I can be back in a couple of hours,” Arthur said.

“Good,” Uther said. “I’ll call again if I can find more details on what Cenred’s planned. I’d handle this myself, but the flight is over 12 hours long and I’ve got meetings all today and tomorrow that would be difficult to reschedule.”

“It’s all right,” Arthur assured him. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

Arthur was already moving as he wrapped up the conversation with Uther, reaching into the shower to turn on the water and adjust the temperature. He winced at the ache between his legs as he washed himself off and indulged for a few moments in memories of the night before, putting off thinking about the conversation he’d shortly be having with Merlin.

Leaving the door of the bathroom open a crack, he dressed quickly and quietly packed his things. When he came back out from the bathroom a second time, carrying his leather toiletries satchel, he saw Merlin awake in bed, leaning up on his elbow staring at him.

“You’re dressed,” he said, accusatory, voice rough with sleep.

Arthur braced himself. “I had a call from my father. I need to go back to London.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost half past four.”

Merlin rose to a sitting position, chest bare, the sheet pooling around his waist. “Are you seriously telling me you invited me back to your hotel to fuck and now you’re going to leave in the middle of the night?”

“It’s not like that,” Arthur said, pained. “God. Can you possibly think I want to leave? After last night? That’s the last thing in the world I want.”

“And yet…” His words couldn’t sound more bitter.

“Merlin,” Arthur said soothingly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He reached out to put his hand behind Merlin’s neck, intending to kiss him, but Merlin jerked away. Arthur felt all his earlier hopes start to slip away. “Merlin,” he repeated, this time soft and broken.

“I knew this was a mistake,” Merlin muttered, not meeting Arthur’s eyes. Then he rounded on his, eyes burning with anger. “You’re still the same selfish prat you always were, aren’t you? I don’t know why I expected anything to be different.”

“You have to let me explain. There’s an emergency.”

“It can’t be helped?” he asked sarcastically. Arthur had no answer. “It’s always the same with you,” Merlin continued. “The job needs you. Uther needs you. What about if I need you?”

“I’d do anything for you, Merlin.”

Merlin scoffed. “Except stay. Or keep your promises. Or listen to me when I tell you what I want. Every time we end up doing things your way. Every single time. You never fucking listen to me.” Although his voice was getting louder, the anger had transformed into something else. Tears were now dampening Merlin’s cheeks. Arthur’s stomach twisted at the look of anguish on his face. “If I asked you to stay right now, to call Uther back and tell him you’re needed here, what would you say?”

Arthur could only stare at him in dismay. If he could stay he would. But this was too important. Too many livelihoods were on the line. He had responsibilities. “Merlin,” he said helplessly, feeling the prickle of tears beginning to form.

“That’s what I thought.” He wiped at his eyes. “Get the fuck out.” His tone was flat, lifeless.

“You have to let me explain,” Arthur said desperately. “At least let me call you later so we can talk.”

“You’re not listening to me,” Merlin said, the combination of rage and sorrow on his face terrible to see. “I want you out of my life. I don’t want to see you again. I don’t want to talk to you again. I don’t want to ever hear from you again. I need you to leave me the fuck alone and get the fuck out.” The last few words were spoken slowly and deliberately with a finality that cracked Arthur’s heart in two.

He slowly got to his feet, mindlessly gathered his belongings, and walked out the door.

He heard the text notification just as he was pulling into the garage at the London office. The drive itself had been a blur. He knew it was probably Uther, but he fumbled for his mobile, hoping against hope Merlin had calmed down and was willing to talk. The text was from Gwaine and had a picture attached. He opened it to see a hastily taken snapshot of him and Merlin on the dance floor, their bodies intimately close. Arthur was staring at Merlin in complete adoration and Merlin’s gaze was focused on Arthur’s lips, expression both hopeful and hungry. It must have been taken in the seconds before they first kissed.

 _I told you you still had a chance_ , the text read. _Don’t fuck it up this time._

Arthur leaned his head against the steering wheel, eyes tightly shut, taking a few short moments to grieve. Then he took a deep breath, steeled his shoulders, and prepared himself for the meeting with Godwyn.


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

_“I suppose I shall have to live now”_   
_E.M Forster, A Room with a View_

* * *

  


  
[ _Rome, Italy – current day_ ]

“I keep telling you that you don’t have to cook while you’re here,” Arthur said to Morgana.

“And I keep telling you I like it. Anyway, you’re going to be my guinea pig tonight. I’m testing out a few new recipes. I barely have the time to experiment at home anymore.”

“I’m at your service,” he replied, giving his belly an exaggerated rub.

“That’s more like it. Why don’t you make yourself useful and open that bottle of wine.”

He did, the cork sliding out with a small pop. “Does this need to breathe?”

“Probably. But it can breathe fine from the inside of my glass. Pour me some, would you?”

Arthur retrieved a wine glass from the cabinet and poured Morgana a generous amount. He went to the refrigerator and got himself a beer, sitting on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “Let me know what I can do to help,” he offered.

“Right now, you can just sit there and keep me company. It’s nice having this kitchen all to myself. It’s amazingly well-stocked for someone who doesn’t even cook.”

“I cook,” he protested. “Sort of. Sometimes.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Sofia’s the one to thank for the kitchen. She had this place fully furnished before I even arrived.”

“I liked her.”

“Yes. She’s been a real help. Honestly, she should be running the entire project.” He took a long swallow of his beer.

“Arthur,” Morgana said with a sigh. “If you’re this unhappy with your job—”

“I’m not unhappy with the job. I like what I do. And I’m good at it.”

She snorted. “Please. You’re miserable.”

He set his bottle down on the counter a little too hard, the glass against the granite making a loud clunking sound. “I’m not miserable because of my job. I’m miserable because I’m heartbroken.” He pushed back quickly, the stool making a screech across the floor as he left the room, escaping to the rooftop terrace.

Morgana found him when dinner was ready. “Come down and eat,” she said.

“Sorry about earlier.”

She shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. Have some food. Tell me what an amazing chef I am and then we’ll talk about it.”

He nodded his head and followed her down the stairs.

After their meal, Arthur leaned back in his chair, hand on his stomach and said, “That was delicious. You’re an amazing chef.”

Morgana preened. “I am, aren’t I?”

“You’re definitely in the right business.”

“I know. Speaking of… are you finally ready to bare your soul to your big sister and allow me to try and help make it all better?”

He gave a small laugh. “You can try. Don’t know how much good it will do.”

“Give it a shot. Are we going to need to open another bottle of wine?”

They decided the answer was yes. Arthur brought their dishes into the kitchen and put away the leftovers before returning to the table with the bottle. Once they’d refilled their glasses, Morgana spoke first. “I talked to Owain the other night after we got back from the Sistine Chapel. We’ve decided to let Uther invest in the restaurant.”

“Really?” Arthur raised his eyebrows. “I thought Owain was against it.”

“He was. But it didn’t really have to do with Uther as an investor. It was more he was trying to protect me. He knows how volatile our relationship has been in the past.”

That was an understatement, Arthur thought to himself. “So what changed?”

“I’ve changed,” she said. “I know you’ve accused me of rejecting anything to do with Pendragon Holdings and that wasn’t entirely unfair. I’ve seen how the company consumes Uther’s life and I’ve watched you heading down that same path, even before university.” Arthur leaned forward and started to interrupt, but she held up her finger. “Just listen for now.” He settled back in his chair. “I was convinced that if I worked with the company, it’d take over my life too and I’d lose my freedom and I’d never find out what I could do on my own. I’m still not sure I was wrong about that.”

“Why now then?” Arthur asked.

“I’m ready to make peace. I know I hurt Uther when I rejected absolutely everything he offered, his home, a place in his company, his money, even his business advice. I was determined to do everything on my own.”

“You’ve definitely proved yourself.”

She smiled. “I have. I mean, I didn’t do it alone. I had Owain. But it was on my terms. I’m proud of our success. But I’ve also learned it doesn’t have to be an all or nothing sort of thing. I don’t have anything left to prove. Having Uther invest is my way of—oh, I don’t know—making amends for some of my hateful behavior of the past. I’m letting him know he’s still an important part of my life in a way that he understands.”

Arthur nodding, knowing what the gesture would mean to Uther. “I’m happy for you,” he said. He was. He’d always hated the tension between Uther and Morgana and any effort on either of theirs parts towards healing that rift was welcome. “And you should know I’m still willing to invest if you need.”

“It’s not that we need investors,” she clarified. “It’s certainly not going to hurt, what with the crazy property prices in London these days and the risk involved in the restaurant business. But I’m not a pauper. I have my own money. Though I can’t say I’m sad at the thought of Uther taking care of the property side of things. I prefer to focus on the kitchen.”

“Then you should at least have me review any contracts Uther has a part in. I know all his tricks.”

Morgana laughed. “Deal.”

“And here I thought tonight was going to be about me spilling my guts.” He took a sip of wine.

“Don’t you worry, little brother. Your turn is next.”

He leaned his head back and rubbed his hands over his face. Then he sat back up. “Fine. I’m not over Merlin and don’t know if I’ll ever be.” He couldn’t stand the look of pity in her eyes.

“Is there any chance you two could work it out?”

“There’s really not, no.” Somehow saying it out loud made it more real.

“But have you—”

“Morgana,” he cut her off. “It’s over.”

She stared at him thoughtfully. “I hate seeing you like this. You’re so unhappy and you’re working far too much. I worry about you.”

“I’ve only been working this much because I can’t stand having time to think.”

“That’s not healthy.”

“It’s not like it was before, not when you warned me how much I was fucking up.”

She winced. “I’ve never wanted to be wrong about something more.”

“No, you were right. I guess in my own way, I was trying to prove myself too. But in trying to show Father how ready I was to step into my role at the company, I ended up ruining things with Merlin. I didn’t even realise what happening until it was already too late.” He paused, letting out a loud sigh. “I’ve thought a lot about the last time we were together and what went wrong. And that time, it really wasn’t my fault. If I had to do it over again, I’d still end up making the same decision. But I do think if I hadn’t fucked up so many times in the past, we might have been able to get beyond that. In the end, it hardly mattered who was at fault because I’d done so much already to muck everything up.”

“I think it’s time for me to give you some sisterly advice.”

He sighed again. “Shoot.”

“You’ve got to give yourself some time to get over Merlin.”

“Maybe I don’t want to get over Merlin.” He looked away and wouldn’t meet her eye.

“Oh, Arthur.” She extended her arm across the table, palm down, not trying to touch him, but as a gesture of sympathy. “Whether you do or not, you can’t go on the way you have been. Even if you’re no longer trying to prove yourself, you’re still working too hard. From where I sit, you’re acting just like Uther when he lost Ygraine.”

“And I told you; I like my work. It’s better when I keep busy.”

“But is it? All I see is you isolating yourself. You know, when I told you that story about me and Uther, I intended you to see something of yourself in it too.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that things don’t have to be all or nothing. It’s possible to find some middle ground, some balance.”

“You’re sounding an awful lot like a therapist.”

“If I thought that meant you actually had one, I’d be elated.”

“I’m sure between the two of us we could support someone’s entire career.”

Morgana’s snorted out a laugh. “No doubt.” She refilled their wine glasses before continuing. “What I mean is if Merlin walked back into your life today, would anything really be different? You claim what you’re doing now is somehow not the same as before, but you’re still overworked. You still neglect your relationships.”

“I invited you here, didn’t I?” he said, on the defensive.

“Yes. And I’m happy you did. But I know I’m the first. You’ve been here for ages. Why haven’t you had Gwaine fly out? Or Percy? Or any of your other friends?” When Arthur didn’t answer, Morgana pressed on. “You’ve got that fabulous park nearby. Why haven’t you found a group for a kickabout on the weekends? The job can’t be your life, Arthur.”

As much as he wanted to argue, to lash out in anger at her words, he knew she was right. The problem was, of course, that he didn’t want to give himself the space to feel the full brunt of his loss. He didn’t want to let other interests and people take up room in his heart, lest they crowd out the bits of Merlin he still had left. At the mere thought, he could feel his chest tightening up, and he blinked rapidly, belaying the sudden onset of maudlin tears.

Morgana’s voice was softer now, laced with kindness. “You should come home. Come back to London and be closer to the people who love you. You don’t have to go through everything alone. You said yourself Sofia’s capable of handling the project on her own. Wrap things up here and take some time to think about where the job fits into your life and not the other way around.” She chuckled before adding, “You’re going to have to get better at saying no to Uther. But I can tell you from experience; it gets easier every time you do it.”

He smiled appreciatively at her attempt to lighten the mood. “I’ll think about it,” however, was all he could manage to say.

“Fair enough. All right, lecture time is over. I propose we either continue to get drunk off this very fine wine or I can bring out the dessert I made earlier.”

“Why not both?” Arthur asked, raising his glass to her.

“Why not both, indeed.”

-o-

By the time Morgana returned to London, Arthur had already begun to make small changes to his routine. He set aside time to exercise regularly, not just squeezing in a run here and there. He stopped working through his lunches and eating at his desk. Enough of his evenings were already taken up with business dinners or drinks. He made more of an effort to stay in touch with his friends, and even pinned down some dates for a visit from Gwaine. Most importantly, he mapped out a strategy with Sofia to extricate himself from the Blade. She was thrilled with the prospect of being the sole lead in charge. Her reaction confirmed his suspicions that her earlier suggestion of them dating had more to do with cementing herself to the hotel than any actual interest in him. They hadn’t discussed their plan with Uther, but Arthur knew he could make the case when the time came. Sofia more than deserved this and Arthur knew his future wasn’t in Rome. He hadn’t managed to arrange a group for footie, but he did find a pub in Trastevere with friendly staff that served craft beer and always had a game on the telly. He thought Morgana would approve of him at least getting out of his apartment.

She called often, refusing to let him sink back into his self-pitying state. As promised, he reviewed the contracts for her new restaurant and enjoyed her enthusiastic conversation about how it was all taking shape. He doubted he’d ever be over Merlin, but as time passed, he was able think of him without the agonizing pain of a newly broken heart.

“Guinevere,” Arthur said after answering his phone one evening. “How’s married life?”

“Wonderful. Perfect. How is Italy?”

“Very Italian. You and Lance need to get over here and visit before I’m back in London.”

“Oh, are you coming home?” She sounded pleased by the idea.

“I hope so. I’m not sure when, but that’s the plan.”

“I’m so glad. I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too. So what’s up, buttercup?”

She laughed. “You haven’t called me that in ages.”

“I must be feeling nostalgic.”

“Aw.” He could picture her cocking her head with a smile, brown curls framing her face. A wave of fondness overtook him. He was very lucky to have her friendship in his life. “So the reason I called…” She hesitated.

“Yes?”

“Look, have you spoken to Merlin, by chance?”

He didn’t answer right away, almost resigned by now to his reaction at hearing Merlin’s name. Arthur cleared his throat. “No. We haven’t spoken,” he finally said.

“Did you know he was publishing a novel?”

Arthur had been aware Merlin had long been working on, as he called it, a writing project. He’d always been extremely private about it, deflecting whenever anyone brought it up, so Arthur had dropped the subject and never pried. “I knew he was working on something,” he answered. “I can’t say I’m surprised to learn it was a book.”

“It’s coming out sometime next month. Merlin gave me an advance copy. Arthur, I think you need to read it,” she said.

“All right. I’ll look for it after it comes out.” He saw no harm in agreeing to that. Whether he actually would remained to be seen. He was finally getting to a point where he could function normally. Why rip open that old wound?

“No, that’s not good enough. I know how you are. I’m going to send this to you. I need your address in Rome.”

Arthur stilled, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “Did Merlin ask you to give me a copy?” He wasn’t sure what he wanted the answer to be.

She sighed. “No. He still refuses to even talk about you. Don’t think I haven’t tried. But I know he’d want you to read it.”

“I highly doubt that,” he said, trying not to sound morose.

“No, he would. I know it. You’re just going to have to trust me. Now give me your address.”

Arthur stared at the package when it arrived. He poured himself a glass of scotch and then sat at the table, studying the unopened package sitting in front of him. He took a sip of his drink, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. Then with a sigh, gathering his courage, he ripped open the brown paper wrapping. He pulled out the book and examined the cover: _Into the Greenwood_ by Merlin Emrys. He ran his fingertips across the name, like a caress, and remembered a conversation long ago, about Maurice and Alec, their importance to young lonely Merlin, and how they’d escaped the boundaries of society, choosing love and a life together.

Taking another sip of his scotch, Arthur told himself that the tightness in his throat was simply the burn of the alcohol going down. When he opened the cover and flipped to the dedication page, he froze. The black italic print on the cream-coloured page read: _For A., who always believed in happy endings._ He stared in disbelief. What did it mean? Could the A. stand for someone else? But he remembered Gwen’s insistence Merlin would want him to read the novel, and knew the dedication was meant for him. 

With that understanding, Arthur knew there was no chance at all he’d be able to avoid what was inside. He turned to the first chapter and began to read. He was up late into the night, unable to put the novel down, as he devoured the story of Marcus and Andrew, two travelers who meet in an Italian hostel and fall in love. Through misunderstandings, bad choices, some self-loathing and self-discovery, Merlin’s beautiful prose carried Arthur along to the final page. By the end, he was blinking back tears, consumed by the story he’d just read, heart full. He lay in bed, hands clasped behind his head, the now-closed book atop his chest.

The next morning, he took out a pen and paper and began to write a note, congratulating Merlin on the book, trying to express his emotions about the story. He feared too much of his heart was exposed through his words, but he could find no other way to convey how much he’d been moved.

The book wasn’t their story, but in a way it was. He recognized bits and pieces of their relationship, places they had been, even snippets of the fights they’d had. But he wasn’t Andrew any more than he’d been Clive, and Merlin wasn’t Marcus, though he was infused in every word. And Marcus and Andrew had been given their happy ending. Arthur’s thoughts spun. Did that mean there was still a chance for them, or was Merlin simply writing a better ending than the one they’d managed for themselves?

He ached to pick up the phone, to hear Merlin’s voice and have him explain, but the note would have to do. As he held the paper in his hands, he realised with a sinking heart that he could never send it. Merlin’s anguished face flashed in front of him from that terrible, awful night, tear-streaked and devastated. “You never listen to me,” he’d said. “I don’t want to ever hear from you again.” He knew then he couldn’t even pass on his well wishes through Gwen or another of their friends. Even that would be violating the spirit of Merlin’s desolate plea.

Arthur blinked back tears again, but this time, they were for himself, for an understanding of what might have been. He folded up the paper and tucked it between the pages of Marcus and Andrew’s story, locking his sentiments away.


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

_“At times he entertained the dream. Two men can defy the world.”  
E.M. Forster, Maurice_

* * *

  
When the book was officially released, Arthur tracked its success obsessively. He set up an internet alert and read every review he could find. A critical darling, its slow initial sales sped up through word of mouth and soon it was on best seller lists. “A worthy successor to _Maurice_ and _Call Me by Your Name_ ,” one called it. “A remarkable debut novel by an exciting new voice, whose breathtaking prose elevates a tale of young love that in less talented hands could have fallen flat,” said another. “Each word cuts as sharp and shines as bright as a diamond,” said yet another. And one of Arthur’s favorites stated, “A magical tour de force, Emrys’ remarkable debut novel is sure to find its place in the LGBT canon for decades to come.”

The book made even more headlines when it was optioned almost immediately to be made into a film.

Of course, it couldn’t escape Morgana’s radar.

“Oh my god. Did you know about this?” she asked him on one late night phone call.

“Gwen sent me a copy.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry. I should have; I know. It’s just… everything’s still difficult for me to talk about.”

“But the dedication. Arthur, that’s practically a declaration.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Of course I can know that. I can read a room. And I’ve watched my fair share of romantic comedies. As romantic gestures go, this is pretty goddamned straightforward. You need to call him.”

“I can’t.” He felt the familiar heaviness in his stomach.

“What do you mean you can’t? You just pick up your mobile and phone him. After you’ve hung up with me, that is.”

“I really can’t.”

“Oh my god. You are so unbelievably stubborn sometimes. Do I need to fly back to Rome and knock some sense into you again?”

He sighed in frustration, pacing the floor. “You don’t understand. I can’t call him. I can’t write. I can’t see him. I can’t be any part of his life again. He said I never listened to him. That I just did things my way, no matter what he wanted. And then he told me never to speak to him again. He said that to me, and he meant it. He meant every word. And I may have fucked up everything when we were together, ignoring everything he ever asked of me, but I can do this for him now. I can honour his wishes and I can leave him alone.”

Morgana was silent on the other end of the line after his outburst. “Arthur,” she finally said, sad and soft.

“So just drop it.” His words were clipped and sharp.

“Yes, all right.” After another long pause she said, “I’m sorry.”

-o-

Arthur and Sofia were in a conference room, looking over a few proposed contracts for the retail shops.

“Knock knock,” said a voice just outside the door.

Arthur looked up and saw Alfredo Affatato in the doorway.

Sofia jumped up, embracing him and kissing his cheeks. “Papà, I didn’t know you were in town. Why didn’t you call?”

“I was only supposed to be in Rome for a quick meeting, fly in and then fly back out. I didn’t expect to have time to see you. But we ran into a few wrinkles so now I’m here overnight. Since I was so close, I thought I’d stop by to see if you’d have time for some dinner with your Papà tonight.”

“Good to see you again, Sir,” said Arthur, who had risen from the table to shake his hand.

“I thought we were past this Sir business,” said Alfredo with a smile.

“Sorry. Good to see you again, Alfredo.”

“That’s better. So what about dinner? Arthur, you’re obviously welcome too.”

Sofia looked at Arthur questioningly. “How about you two go on ahead now,” he said. “I can finish up here. And then if you like, I can meet you somewhere later.” He knew Uther would expect him to agree to the dinner, and even more so that he would pick up the check.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Sofia asked.

“Not at all. You should spend some time together while you have the chance. And I’ve got a good handle on what still needs to be done with these.” He indicated the piles of paper on the table.

“You’re wonderful,” Sofia said, kissing his cheek. “I’ll text you where to meet us later.”

“Sounds good,” said Arthur, as the two of them headed out.

As they were relaxing with after dinner drinks later that evening, Alfredo surprised Arthur by saying, “Incidentally, I met one of your former classmates the other day. Quite the rising talent, that one.”

“Oh really? Who was it?”

“Merlin Emrys, the novelist. He was in Milan for a preliminary meeting. Apparently, they brought a few location scouts in and were interested in touring a few of our properties. I’m sure you’ve heard that book of his was optioned to be made into a film.”

“Yes, I’d heard that,” Arthur kept his voice politely interested. “So it sounds like it’s actually getting made.”

“Oh, yes. They seem to be moving quickly. They’ve got some heavy hitters on board. Lots of excitement about it. We got to talking about his newfound success and his university studies. He’s a very smart young man. When I heard he went to Cambridge, I told him my daughter’s boyfriend had gone there too and asked if he knew you.”

Arthur wiped his mouth with his napkin, trying to mask his expression as Alfredo talked. “Yes, we knew each other in university. We had the same circle of friends.”

“That’s what he said. Small world, isn’t it?”

Arthur nodded in agreement. “Definitely,” he said. “Very small.”

That night Arthur lay awake in his bed, unable to sleep. How ironic that the one person he couldn’t bear thinking he and Sofia were together was the one person who now did. The universe had a cruel sense of humour. And what was the point of trying to correct the misperception? Even if he wanted, he had no way to do so anyway. Who could have imagined this unfortunate scenario when he’d agreed to Sofia’s suggestion so long ago?

It couldn’t be helped now, he thought ruefully. He’d talk to Sofia tomorrow and let her know they needed to fake break up. He laughed a little at the ridiculousness of the thought. But maybe this would help to grease the wheel, so to speak. Uther would have to understand Arthur’s desire to return to London now that Sofia was ostensibly his ex. At least something useful might come out of this, he thought, finally feeling tired. As he drifted to sleep, his thoughts were a jumbled mess, all regarding Merlin—happiness for his success, sorrow that Merlin would now think he’d somehow moved on, and regret for far more than he could ever express.

-o-

 _Can’t talk now, but you’ve got to watch this_. The text was from Morgana and contained a link to a YouTube video. Arthur clicked and saw it was an interview with Merlin by the BBC. He got up to close his office door, telling his assistant he wasn’t to be interrupted for the next half hour, then settled back behind his desk, phone gripped tightly in his hands.

Arthur pressed play then paused the moment the camera cut from the interviewer to Merlin. He looked amazing. Dressed in a black tee shirt with a dark blue collared shirt unbuttoned over top, he appeared every bit the image of a rising young artist. His dark hair was a little longer than he used to wear it, the natural curl in full display, and his face was unshaven with the beginnings of a beard accenting his high cheekbones and full lips. But it was his eyes that Arthur stared at the longest, that brilliant blue shining brightly under the studio lights. After gazing his fill at the beloved face, more gorgeous than ever, Arthur pressed play to continue the recording.

“First of all,” said the interviewer, “Congratulations on all your success.”      

“Thank you.”

“Did you have any idea your book would create such a stir?”

Merlin laughed. “No. I mean, of course, one always hopes people will like what you’ve written. But I finished it quite some time ago, so I wasn’t thinking about it as much anymore. I was more concerned with working on my masters.”

“At Cambridge, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“That’s the same university E.M. Forster went to.”

“Yes. He was one of the main reasons I chose Cambridge to study. They have a collection of Forster’s works there.”

“For those who don’t know, can you explain the meaning behind the title?”

“Sure. _Into the Greenwood_ comes from Forster’s novel _Maurice_. He references the greenwood several times throughout the novel. I suppose it could be described as sort of the wild, unpoliced area of England where ‘two men can defy the world’ and escape persecution and punishment. In his Terminal Note about the book he talks about how happiness was an imperative. If you’re familiar at all with Forster, you’ve probably heard that quotation before. He was determined to write a story where two men could fall in love and stay in love. So within fiction, at least, Maurice and Alec, the two lovers in _Maurice_ , forever roam the greenwood.”

“Maurice and Alec, and now your novel has Marcus and Andrew. Was that a deliberate naming choice?”

“Yes. It’s no secret that my book is heavily influenced by _Maurice_ , especially the imperative of a happy ending. So there are definite echoes and similar themes, but within a modern setting.”

“What do you say to the critics who think that your book shouldn’t be classified as literary fiction, but should be considered a romance?”

“Are there critics who say that?” Merlin asked with a little laugh. “I hadn’t heard that.” He paused as if to consider his answer. “I really have no issue if people want to call it a romance, rather than literary fiction. I mean, it is one at its core. Any familiarity with the title probably already gives that away, so it’s not like it spoils the ending or anything. The debates about the difference between literary fiction and genre fiction are going to continue to rage no matter where my little book eventually falls. But if one of the hallmarks of genre fiction is that it’s popular fiction, I hardly think I’m in a position to complain.” He gave a cheeky grin after his last statement, receiving a laugh and a nod from the interviewer in response.

“Well said. Now, another book yours is being compared to is _Call Me by Your Name_ by André Aciman. What are your thoughts about that? Was that also an influence?”

“I can see why people say that—the Italian setting, first of all, and the overwhelming emotion of first love. But any similarities aren’t intentional. I’m certainly not going to take issue with being compared to the work, though. It’s a gorgeous story.”

“James Ivory wrote the screenplays for both of those novels, _Maurice_ in the 1980s and _Call Me by Your Name_ most recently, for which he won an Oscar. We know your book has been optioned to be made into a film and if rumors are true, production is already underway. There are also rumors that James Ivory is writing the screenplay to adapt the novel. Are you able to confirm that for us?”

“Um, I don’t think I’m allowed to comment on the film as of yet. But having James Ivory write the screenplay would be a dream.”

“Since you’re not able to discuss it, I’ll skip the other questions I was going to ask about the film.” The interviewer looked over her notes. “You gave an interview recently where you stated the book was somewhat autobiographical. Can you tell us more about that?”

Again, Merlin took a moment before answering. “I think every writer puts a lot of themselves on the page. For me, it’s not so much the plot that’s autobiographical; it’s more that the emotions and underlying themes come from my own experiences. I’ve fallen in love. I’ve made mistakes in my relationships. That said, I did travel through Italy after getting my degree and many of my impressions made it into the book. Marcus, in particular, has bits and pieces of me in him. But Marcus isn’t based on me and I’m really not much like him overall. But his defensiveness, that’s something he and I share. And the way he self-sabotages, his rigidity of thinking, especially concerning Andrew and those preconceived notions he can’t seem to let go of, those are all aspects I can relate to.”

“And now, I have to ask. The A. on your dedication page, is that a significant other? Are they the A to your M, like Alec to Maurice and Andrew to Marcus?”

“At the time I was writing this, he was, yes. But we’re no longer together.”

“You mention a happy ending in the dedication. Is that still a possibility?”

Merlin rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I mean, at one time, I hoped it might be. But no, I don’t think so. He’s seeing someone else now. Thank goodness we have fiction. In real life, we don’t always get our happy endings.” He gave a self-deprecating chuckle.

“So what’s next for you? Are you working on another novel?”

“Yes, I’ve been writing. And I want to eventually complete my doctorate and maybe teach. But for now, I’m taking a little time off from school to promote the book and consult on the film.”

“Well, thank you so much for joining us. I’m sure we all look forward to seeing the film adaption of your wonderful book in theatres in the future. I’ve been speaking with Merlin Emrys about his best-selling novel, _Into the Greenwood_. Thank you again, Merlin.”

“Thank you.”

When Arthur reached the end of the video, he pressed replay and watched it again. After he watched it through the second time, he went back to the section where Merlin was talking about the autobiographical portions of the novel and played it for a third time. Merlin had hoped for a happy ending. When, wondered Arthur. Had he hoped for one before their last disastrous time together, or had it been more recently? If there was a still a chance… Hurriedly, he tapped out a text to Morgana. _Call me when you’re free_.

His phone buzzed 15 minutes later. “I take it you watched it,” Morgana said.

“Yes. I may have watched it more than once.” He let out a small embarrassed huff. “So what do you think he meant by he hoped for a happy ending? Do you think he still might want that? Do you think he might still want me?”

“I’ve already told you what I think. That dedication said it all.”

“But don’t books typically take a year or even two to actually get published? Maybe he wrote that ages ago. A lot could have changed since then.”

“They don’t actually print them that far in advance. He probably had time to change the dedication if he wanted to.”

“Maybe so. But then there’s the whole Sofia thing. He thinks I’m dating her.”

“And why would he think that?”

“Well, because—”

“Oh, for goodness sake,” she said cutting him off. “That was rhetorical. Uther mentioned you and Sofia were an item at dinner one night and it wasn’t hard to figure out. Speaking of, you really need to wrap up things in Rome and come home to London. I don’t know how many more one-on-one dinners with Uther I can take.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Work faster,” she said wryly. “You know, in a way, I can’t blame you. He’s relentless once he gets an idea into his head. But Arthur, surely you knew what a stupid thing that was to do.”

“How was I to know Merlin would find out about it? It was really just to keep Alfredo off Sofia’s back,” he protested. “Father was a bonus. I mean, who could even imagine?”

“Only anyone who’s ever read a romance novel. You really haven’t seen enough rom coms, have you?” she said, exasperated.

“Fine. I fucked up. Again. But what do I do now?”

“I still think you should talk to him.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Talk to Gwen. See if she can feel him out for you.”

“She says he refuses to even speak about me. And I can’t ask her to do that.”

“Then I guess you’d better hope he decides to talk to you.”

He didn’t respond. Even before he asked Morgana to call he’d already known his hands were tied; he couldn’t contact Merlin, couldn’t ask him to explain. He sighed, knowing he was now carrying an additional burden. He’d forever have to wonder if he and Merlin could have made things work. He feared that uncertainty might be even more painful than knowing they were truly over.

“Come home, Arthur,” Morgana implored softly. “It’s time.”

“Yes, all right. All right.”

Even with all the work Sofia and he had been doing to extricate Arthur from the project, they still needed several more weeks to tie up loose ends. Alfredo must have relayed the news of their “split” to Uther, so he at least wasn’t surprised when Arthur called, expressing his intentions to return to London.

“You’ve done good work in Rome, son. I’m very impressed with how thorough you and Sofia have been. It looks like you’re leaving the Blade in good hands.”

“She’s really quite impressive. I’m 100% confident she’ll be able to handle everything once I’m gone.”

“Good, good,” Uther said. “We should discuss what you’ll do next. There’s a project in Hong Kong that might be a good fit.”

“No,” Arthur interrupted, keeping his voice firm. “No international projects. I don’t mind traveling, as long as they’re relatively shorter trips, a week or two at the most. But I want to be based in England. I want to come home.”

Uther paused, as if considering his response. Then he said, “All right. We can arrange that. London is our international headquarters, after all. We’ll always have a use for someone of your caliber here.”

“Thank you, Father.” Morgana was right; it did get easier every time he told Uther no.


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

_“But if we act the truth, the people who really love us are sure to come back to us in the long run.”  
E.M. Forster, A Room with a View_

* * *

 

[ _London, England – current day_ ]

“Arthur,” Morgana greeted him, kissing both his cheeks. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be back in time. I’d have killed Uther if you hadn’t made it.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He’d been back at the London office for a few weeks now, and this was the first trip he’d had to take out of town. It had only been an overnight to Paris, but with his track record he could understand why Morgana would be concerned. “Trust me. I’d have swum across the Channel to get here if necessary. Now, give me the tour. Unless you don’t want me monopolizing your attention. You’ve got quite the crowd already.”

“I can spare a few minutes for my baby brother. Owain can hold down the fort.”

They were at the “Friends and Family” open house for Morgana and Owain’s new restaurant. The soft open would occur in a few days and then the official grand opening would be the following week. But tonight was an opportunity to generate some word-of-mouth buzz, as well as a chance to thank all the people who had supported them while they expanded to a second location.

The restaurant, like their flagship spot, was elegant and sophisticated. Guests milled around, enjoying the open bar, the plentiful open bottles of wine, and the trays of appetizers servers were carrying throughout the room. Arthur snagged a glass of wine as Morgana began to show him around, admiring the outdoor courtyard in back and Morgana’s pride and joy, the state of the art kitchen, stainless appliances still spotless and new.

“It’s beautiful,” Arthur said to Morgana when they reentered the dining room. “I should find Owain and offer my congratulations.”

“I think he’s over there,” said Morgana, pointing to a cluster of people at the far end of the room. “And look. Uther’s just arrived. I had better go say hello. Don’t you dare try and sneak out any time soon. I expect you to relax and have a good time this evening.”

He raised his glass and nodded in acknowledgement as she left to greet Uther. Arthur worked his way across the room, stopping to chat with several acquaintances along the way. He spied Gwaine at the bar and nodded hello, but decided to catch up with him later as he appeared otherwise occupied, chatting up a pretty blonde.

When Arthur reached the group of people Morgana had indicated, Owain was not among them. His heart jumped when he saw who was: Merlin. Their eyes locked and Merlin paused in whatever he’d been saying, starting at Arthur intently. After what seemed like minutes—time felt as if it had slowed down—but was probably only seconds, Arthur turned to retrace his steps to the opposite side of the dining room. He heard an, “Excuse me,” from behind him and before he could escape, he felt a hand around his arm.

“Arthur, wait,” Merlin said.

Arthur swallowed and turned to face Merlin. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he said.

“Morgana invited me.”

Arthur’s eyes widened and he looked around the room for his sister. When he located her near the bar with Uther, she was watching the two of them. She cocked her head, raising her eyebrows, and made a motion with her hands, as if to urge him in Merlin’s direction. He took a deep breath, setting his jaw, before turning once again towards Merlin. “I wouldn’t have bothered you if I had known you were there. I was looking for Owain.”

“Oh. I saw him earlier.” There was an awkward silence. Merlin dropped his arm, as if only realising he was still holding it. Arthur’s skin still burned beneath his suit fabric.

“Congratulations on the book, by the way. And the film too, I suppose.”

“Thank you. Did you read it?”

“Yes. Gwen sent me a copy.”

“What did you think?” He looked nervous, as if Arthur’s opinion actually mattered to him.

“It was brilliant,” he answered truthfully.

Merlin’s eyes crinkled at the corners and a small smile appeared on his lips. Arthur would swear he felt his heart skip a beat. “You really think so?”

God, this was torture, Arthur thought. He was not at all prepared for this. He and Morgana were going to have words later. But for now, he could only say, “Yes. Of course it was. You’ve always been brilliant.”

Merlin hesitated before speaking again. “Did you see the dedication?”

So many times Arthur had wanted the opportunity to ask what he had meant. And here Merlin was, right in front of him, bringing it up himself. Instead of feeling relieved, he felt sweat break out on his upper lip and his heart began to pound. Was this panic? Was he having a panic attack? He’d never had one, but he imaged one might possibly feel something like this. He took a deep slow breath, trying to get a grip on his emotions so he could answer. “Yes, I saw it.”

Merlin studied his face closely. “I thought if you saw it, you might call.”

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stand here and be forced to contemplate that he’d got everything wrong once again. “Yes, well. I wanted to, but you told me not to.” He needed to be done with this conversation. “If you’ll excuse me, please,” he said, starting to turn away, “I had better find Owain.”

Before he could escape, Merlin had grabbed his arm again. This time his voice was urgent. “Wait. Arthur, please.” Arthur stilled. “Can we talk?” When Arthur didn’t answer, he added another “please.” Arthur nodded in acquiescence.

“Let’s sit down,” Merlin said, looking around the room. “Over there.” He pointed to a table in the corner, away from the rest of the guests. Arthur followed silently. Once they were both seated, Merlin looked at Arthur and frowned. “I’m going to get us both some water,” he said. “Wait right here.”

“Okay,” Arthur agreed.

Merlin glanced back multiple times, as if afraid Arthur would get up and leave while he was away. Within moments, he was back with two tall glasses of cool water and slid one over to Arthur. “Here. Drink that.” Arthur did, swallowing the entire contents of the glass down. “Better?” Merlin asked.

“Yes, thanks,” Arthur replied. He didn’t want to contemplate how he must have looked. The water had helped, though. He felt a little more in control and his heart had slowed its rapid-fire beat.

Merlin cleared his throat. “As I was saying, I had thought if you saw the dedication, you might call.” He held up his hand when Arthur started to respond. “I know. I remember what I said.” He winced. “Then when I realised that you weren’t going to contact me, I knew it was up to me to contact you. But by then I had met Signor Affatato in Milan and thought I’d missed my chance.”

Arthur shook his head. “We weren’t... that wasn’t…” Was Merlin saying what he thought he was saying, he wondered. He ran his hand through his hair, agitated.

“I know. Morgana told me.”

“Morgana?” he asked, his brows drawing in.

Merlin gave a wry smile. “Yes, she invited me to coffee not too long ago. Well, invited isn’t quite the word for it. Insisted is more like it. But we did meet.”

At that, Arthur chuckled. “She never told me,” he said, after a moment.

“She called us both idiots,” Merlin went on. “Said she’d had to knock some sense into you and now she was going to try to knock some into me. I tried to tell her I’d already come to my senses, but I had realised I was too late and you’d already moved on. So she called me an idiot again and said that was just a stupid miscommunication and you weren’t seeing anyone.” He paused before continuing, more serious now. “And then she said you’d taken me at my word and were trying to do right by me and if I ever wanted to see you again, I’d have to come to you.” His eyes shone with unshed tears.

As he spoke, the long-dormant hope in Arthur’s heart started to bloom. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through,” Arthur burst out. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I’ve wanted to tell you so many times. You can’t know how sorry I am. If I had it to do all over again, I’d do so many things differently.”

“It wasn’t just you,” Merlin protested.

“Yes, it was, or mostly me. I was trying to be too many things to too many people and I ruined the very thing that was most important to me.”

“It was my fault too. It wasn’t just you,” Merlin repeated. “I had all these dumb ideas in my head, and it was almost like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. I thought you’d eventually get tired of me, that we were too different. Or—I don’t know—that you’d want a normal life with a wife and kids. And I think subconsciously, I started pushing you away, expecting that you were going to leave me anyway. Then when I heard you were seeing Sofia, it was like a self-fulfilling prophecy. I had all these hang ups and I should have trusted you. I should have taken you at your word.”

“I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”

“As bad as things got when we were together, and they did get pretty terrible sometimes, being without you was a hundred times worse.”

“What are you saying?” Arthur asked in a low voice, trembling.

“I’m saying I want to try again.” A single tear began to slide down his cheek as he spoke. “I’m saying I still love you. I’ve missed you so much. I want us to try again.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before Arthur was standing and moving towards Merlin, who rose to his feet to meet him. Then Arthur was cupping Merlin’s face between his hands and Merlin was gripping Arthur’s sides and they were kissing, hot and passionate, as if they couldn’t bear to spend another minute apart. Arthur’s hands slid back, sinking into Merlin’s silky curls. He squeezed his fingers, tilting Merlin’s head so he could kiss along his jaw and then the column of his neck. At the little tug against his scalp, Merlin moaned, sending a rush of arousal straight to Arthur’s cock. His head spun at the familiar taste and smell, sense memory overwhelming him. “Merlin,” he whispered fervently against his skin. “God, Merlin.” He pressed against him urgently, hands roaming down his back, wanting to touch him everywhere.

So absorbed in the sensation of having Merlin in his arms again, he barely registered that Merlin was speaking. “Not here. Arthur, wait. This way.” Dazed, he pulled his head back. Aware of his surroundings once again, Arthur took a moment and let the words sink in. He finally realised Merlin was trying to pull him towards a nearby hallway. “Sorry. It’s just… your father’s standing right over there.” A small hysterical giggle left his mouth.

“Right,” said Arthur, lips quirking. Gathering his wits, he hustled them both down the hall then into the gents. Once the door closed behind them, they were kissing again, Merlin’s back against the wall, Arthur pressing into him. Then Merlin was spinning them so Arthur was against the wall, Merlin’s hard cock grinding against his hip. Arthur reached around, hands clutching his arse, pulling him even closer, tongue darting into his mouth wet and hungry, then moving down to mouth against his throat, feeling the vibrations of his moans against his lips.

“Want you to fuck me,” Merlin panted, breath hot against his ear. “Missed you so fucking much. Want to feel you inside me.”

The words sent Arthur into sensory overload. His head fell back, eyes closed and he groaned, hips bucking uncontrollably. Then he kissed Merlin again, hard and desperately, biting down on his bottom lip. “Don’t have anything. But I’ll blow you. Missed the taste of your cock. And then I’ll fuck you later. Might never let you out of bed.” He manoeuvred Merlin towards one of the stalls as he spoke.

Once they were inside, door latched shut, Merlin’s hand dug into his pocket and he pulled out a condom and a sachet of lube. “I came prepared to seduce you.” He almost looked smug.

Arthur stared at the items in his hand with mixed emotions. On the one hand, his heart thrilled knowing Merlin came with the intention to reconcile. On the other, he obviously felt they needed a condom. It had been a long time. It was unrealistic to expect Merlin to have remained celibate while they’d been apart. He closed his eyes, telling himself to let it go. Whatever Merlin had done was the past; he was here with Arthur now.

Merlin must have caught something in his expression. “I know what Morgana said, that you and Sofia weren’t a thing. But if she was wrong, if you were, or if there was anyone else, it doesn’t matter to me. I’ll still want you. I think I probably always will.”

Arthur kissed him again, dirty and quick. “There hasn’t been anyone since you.”

Merlin tried to control his grin, but he couldn’t. “There’s been no one for me either. I swear. But wear the condom anyway, just this once. I can’t go out there to face your family with your come dripping out of my arse.”

The image set Arthur aflame and his hands went straight for Merlin’s flies, hands dipping into his pants to grip Merlin’s cock, mouth swallowing his gasps as he stroked him firm and strong.

“Fuck. You’ve got to stop. Don’t make me come like this. I want your cock inside me. Come on.” He fumbled at Arthur’s waist, getting his trousers undone and pushing them down around his thighs. He ripped open the condom wrapper and rolled it over Arthur’s rigid length. Then he opened the lube sachet and slicked him up.

“Your hands,” Arthur groaned, leaning his forehead against Merlin’s shoulder. “Shit.” Then he took the open lube sachet from his hands and squeezed what was left on his fingertips. “Turn around.  

“Just get in me,” Merlin demanded. “I want to feel it burn.” But Arthur took the time to work him open, stretching him with fingers hot and slick. Merlin spread his legs wider, leaning his head against the stall door. “Come on,” he whined. “I need you inside.”

Arthur took a deep breath and lined himself up and slowly pushed in. The tight heat that surrounded him was like coming home and his breath hitched, heart racing, as he bottomed out. He wrapped his arms around Merlin’s chest, pressing his face against the back of his neck, then he slid out and pushed back in. “You feel incredible,” he murmured. “You’re incredible.” Then he pulled out and pumped in again, this time harder, forcing out a grunt from Merlin. He did it again, faster and harder, as if he could somehow get deeper still. Then again, and once more again.

He wasn’t going to last long, he could tell. It was too good. Merlin felt too amazing with his body pushing back against Arthur’s thrusts. The little noises coming out of him were like heady intoxicants. Arthur reached down to grasp Merlin’s cock, dripping and wet, and he stroked him, hips pumping. Merlin sounded almost frantic now, his head hanging low and Arthur felt the beginning of his own orgasm begin to curl along his spine.

Just then, the bathroom door opened. Arthur stilled. The hand not around Merlin’s cock reached up to cover his mouth, attempting to stifle the noises Merlin was making. The hand around his cock gripped him tightly at the base, helping to stave off his orgasm. Senses already unbearably heightened, Arthur trembled. The feel of his cock, so close to climax, fully encased in Merlin’s hot sheath was exquisite torture. Merlin was squirming under him, chest heaving, and his cock pulsed under Arthur’s fingers. Arthur jolted in surprise as Merlin started mouthing on the hand across his lips, trying to suck Arthur’s fingers into his mouth. He retaliated by biting down on the shell of Merlin’s ear, lapping at his lobe, breath hot.

They did their best to stay quiet while someone pissed and then washed their hands, but they were far too keyed up. Arthur made an involuntary movement with his hips and the high-pitched whine Merlin emitted was impossible to muffle.

“Wart, Merlin,” Gwaine said from the other side the stall. “It’s good to see you two lads finally working your issues out.” Then he was gone, door clicking shut behind him.

Merlin snorted with laughter at the same time that Arthur released his dick, giving him a long hard stroke while he slammed into him once again. The laugh turned into a moan as Merlin’s body jerked and he came. The hot splash of come over his fingers catapulted Arthur towards orgasm and he was simultaneously overtaken with paroxysms of laughter and the shudders of his release as his hips bucked into Merlin one last time. He came, then collapsed, panting and wheezing against Merlin’s shaking back.

“Fucking Gwaine,” Merlin muttered, sending them both into snorts of laughter once again.

Once they were all cleaned up and their clothes righted, they exited the gents to rejoin the other guests. As they walked back down the hall, Arthur reached for Merlin’s hand, saying, “Wait.”

Merlin turned towards him questioningly.

Arthur fiddled with Merlin’s collar, even though nothing was amiss. “You said all those lovely things out there. Before… you know.” Before they fucked in the bathroom of his sister’s restaurant.

“I meant them.”

Arthur smiled. “Good. It’s just that I haven’t said any of them back.”

“Oh.”

“So I want to say them now.”

“Okay.” There was a little smile on his face.

“I love you too,” Arthur said, and Merlin’s smile grew. “I never stopped loving you. And yes, I want to try again. I want our happy ending.”

Merlin’s joy lit up his whole face.


	15. Epilogue

* * *

_“I think you’re beautiful, the only beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I love your voice and everything to do with you, down to your clothes or the room you are sitting in. I adore you.”  
E.M. Forster, Maurice_

* * *

   
“Let me help you with those,” said Arthur, taking the cufflinks from Merlin’s hand. As he fastened the square blue stones against his wrists, he was reminded of the last time Merlin had worn them, standing in his tuxedo while he promised to love, honour, and cherish at the Pendragon country estate outside of London. The wedding had been small and intimate with Morgana and Gwaine standing in attendance. Gwen had sung Puccini’s "O Mio Bambino Caro" at the ceremony and Arthur’s eyes weren’t the only ones that didn’t remain dry as the sound of her accomplished clear voice filled the air.

And now, they were finally on their honeymoon. They’d had to delay the start in order for them both to coordinate a few weeks off, but this way, they were able to attend the Venice Film Festival where _Into the Greenwood_ was having its premiere.

Once the cuffs were secured, Arthur took Merlin’s hand and brought it to his lips, the gold band on his finger still new enough to give him a thrill every time he saw it. “I’m going to be the envy of everyone on the red carpet, having the sexiest man in existence on my arm.”

Merlin huffed out a laugh. “You must not have read the gossip columns lately. Apparently, I’m the one to be envied for, and I quote, ‘bagging the Pendragon heir.’”

“Ha. Little do they know I was already yours.”

Merlin’s smile morphed into that soft fond one he reserved just for Arthur. “You’re ridiculous. Nobody would believe what a romantic you are sometimes.”

“Self-preservation, Merlin. That’s all it is. I have to keep the author of, and _I_ quote, ‘one of the greatest love stories of this generation’ interested.”

“That’s what your cock is for.”

Arthur grinned, delighted at his response. He leaned in to kiss him. “I love your way with words,” he said, before gently biting his chin. “Keep it up and I’m going to ravish you right on the red carpet in front of all the cameras.”

Merlin pretended to be exasperated by rolling his eyes. Arthur loved him more than anything. “Come on, husband. We’re going to be late.”

“Husband,” Arthur repeated, letting the syllables roll over his tongue. “Another excellent word.”

-o-

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said Merlin, looking out at the Florence skyline from the balcony of the Hotel degli Orafi. They hadn’t stayed for the entire festival, wanting to have as much time as possible for just the two of them before they had to be back in London. Merlin’s courses would be starting back up at the end of September and he’d be busier than ever. After many heartfelt discussions, he’d enrolled at King’s College in London to work on his doctorate. Neither of them could bear the thought of living in different cities again. To stave off old resentments, they had made the promise that they’d never let a separation last longer than two weeks apart, whether Merlin was doing book promotion or Arthur was travelling for business. And even with the best intentions of taking things slowly, trying to avoid making the mistakes of the past, within weeks, Merlin had moved into Arthur’s London flat. He’d been there ever since.

  
Arthur stood pressed shoulder to shoulder, overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude. “Mm,” he hummed in agreement. “I almost wish we weren’t married so I could ask you to marry me all over again.”

Merlin turned to him with a soft look in his eyes and a cheeky smile of his lips. “Well, if you feel like getting down on your knees…”

The next morning after his shower, Arthur pulled on the plush white robe hanging in the bathroom and found Merlin already in his robe seated on the balcony, breakfast spread on the table before him, laptop balanced on his knees. He stood in the doorway, staring at his amazing husband, once again clean shaven with hair cut short. His heart swelled with love and he marveled that after so much pain and heartache, he was now married to this gorgeous talented man, their lives bound together for all eternity.

Merlin looked up and smiled when he saw him leaning against the door frame. He patted the spot next to him. “Come have some breakfast.”

Arthur sat down, kissing Merlin on the cheek before pouring his tea. “What have you got there?” he asked, taking a sip. “Are the reviews out?”

“Yes, and they’re brilliant.”

“Of course they are.”

“Here, listen to this one. ‘Visually stunning and impeccably acted, _Into the Greenwood_ is one of the most romantic films of the year and sure to be an Oscar contender. Based on the best-selling novel by Merlin Emrys and scripted for the screen by James Ivory, it follows two young men who meet while traveling through Italy.' Blah, blah, blah. Blah, blah, blah. 'At once sumptuous and erotic, dreamy and emotional, it's above all a story of first love. Boasting a star-making performance from newcomer Smith-McCann, the film will remain with you long after the credits roll.'”

“An Oscar contender. This reviewer clearly knows their stuff. I like the bits that talk about you. Go on. Read another one.”

“They’re all like that, if you can believe it.”

“I can believe it. You’re brilliant, and the film is too.”

“Oh, here’s a nice bit. ‘The title, taken from English novelist E.M. Forster's _Maurice,_ permeates the story as the feel of Marcus and Andrew’s passionate love affair almost seems set outside of time and place, despite the omnipresent beauty of the Italian setting. Like the film _Maurice_ before it, also penned by James Ivory and arguably ahead of its time, _Into the Greenwoo_ d insists on the imperative of a happy ending. I challenge anyone to leave the theatre unmoved.’ I like that last part about the happy ending.”

Arthur took the laptop from Merlin and set it on the table, then turned towards him, moving close. “I liked it too,” he said, leaning in to kiss his husband. “My only imperative is you.”  


The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! Please visit **Merlocked18** 's [art post](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18962053) to leave her comments and kudos for the gorgeous art accompanying this story!


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